AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


MARY E. DONOVAN 


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AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

By 

MARY E. DONOVAN 

A 



B. HERDER BOOK CO., 

17 South Broadway, St. Louis, Mo., 
and 

68 Great Russell St., London, W. C. 

1917. 


Copyright, 1917 
By 

Joseph Gummersbach 
All Rights Reserved 
Printed in U. S. A. 






— BECKTOLD— 

PRINTING and BOOK MEG. CO^ 
ST. LOUIS, U. S. A. 


m 26 1917 

©CU4627a7 

I 


To the Knights and Ladies 

of the Prairies 


Chaptek I. 


Anne was sure that she would never forget 
that seven mile ride over the prairie. 

With the farm wagon and the two broncos, 
her uncle and aunt had met the fast train that 
had home her in from the great world. She 
should have arrived in daylight, but the train 
was hours late, and the neat village, nestled 
about the station, was more than half asleep. 
On their way through it they picked up a lad 
with a cornet, and her aunt said, ‘ ‘ This is your 
cousin John,’’ and her uncle, whom she had 
never before seen, said, after giving her a hearty 
greeting, ‘‘John, I am not sure that you will not 
have to give up your cornet lessons, and you 
don’t have a lot of fun, John.” 

He was seventeen, and played in the village 
band, and strangling a too ready sigh, said, 
quietly, “I won’t mind father, anything you 
say,” and Anne felt that he meant it. 

Aunt Elizabeth had her well wrapped, for it 
was crisp cold, late in March, and as they rolled 
and creaked across the prairie, sometimes in a 
hard road, sometimes cross-cutting through 
stretches of prairie grass, she kept her eyes 
open very wide, trying to see what this new 
country might be like. There seemed to be noth- 
ing to it save a very immense dark bowl in- 
verted over the earth, touching on all sides, 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


thickly studded with glinting stars, and these she 
looked at with interest; she had never seen so 
many at one time. 

‘‘The stars are bright, we shall have a storm 
in two or three days,’’ said Uncle Matthew. 

It was not like what she had read about 
prairies, often they went way down into a hol- 
low; once they drove down steep banks through 
the bed of a creek where the bridge had been 
washed away, and the strong little animals al- 
ways took the ascents with a run. Anne knew 
a little about horses. 

“You let your horses run up hill, and that 
was a steep hill.” 

“These aren’t horses, they are broncos,” and 
Uncle Matthew laughed. 

“They are fine speeders but we have to give 
them their own way sometimes, or we might be 
sorry,” said Aunt Elizabeth. 

‘ ‘ What would they do ? ” 

“Well, they can kick like anything, and if 
we try to force this one to do anything she does 
not want to do, she will lie down in her harness 
and stay awhile,” said her uncle. 

‘ ‘ Why, how do you ever get along with them I ’ ’ 
asked Anne. 

“Oh, I know them, and avoid all unpleasant- 
ness, and they go just as you see them now.” 
It was like racing; straight ahead, sure and safe, 
and as easily as though they had only a sulky 
behind them instead of a farm wagon, four 
people, and a lot of supplies. 


AN UNWIIvUNG TRAVELER 


3 


The shadows were now beginning to open np 
without disclosing much. 

‘‘Why, there are no trees,” said Anne. She 
loved trees. 

“Not yet, there are only la few kinds that will 
grow here yet, and they are hard to get; the 
tree belt is moving nearer all the time. ’ ^ 

Anne could not understand this, but would find 
out about it some time when she was not so 
sleepy. ‘ ‘ There is a house over there ; you would 
better look at it, they are few and far between ; ^ ^ 
out of the darkness a dog disapproved of the un- 
usual disturbance. 

After awhile she saw a tiny light and a darker 
shadow, but never suspected that such a small 
shadow could be a house. John got down and 
swung open a yard gate, and by that time sev- 
eral more cousins had come out of the little 
house. 

There were three rooms, comfortably furnish- 
ed ; and very near, but not attached to it, was a 
large kitchen, and soon after arriving, John and 
the two younger boys retired to their shakedown 
on the floor of the kitchen, and slept the sleep of 
youth. 

The uncle and aunt and their nice girls were 
soon tucked away snugly. 

“Now, if you hear coyotes in the night you 
must not be scared,” said her uncle Matthew 
after she had said a very sleepy good night, 
too tired to ask what “kyotes” as he called it, 
might be. 


4 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


It was not so easy to go to sleep, tired as 
she was. Her two cousins were soon entirely 
oblivions in their comfortable bed on the floor. 
Anne had a whole big davenport all to herself, 
and she worried a little that they should be 
on the draughty floor, while she was, most like- 
ly, in their accustomed place. But tomorow 
she could settle all that, so, saying some more 
prayers, gradually her imagination became 
quiet, and she drifted into dreamland. 

With her confused dreams, after awhile, were 
mixed up some very strange sounds, which did 
not for a time take definite order in her 
consciousness ; but by degrees she became awake 
and was too terrified to make use of her senses ; 
not realizing where she was, and with a feeling 
that there was danger of some kind very near. 

It had grown much colder ; the air had a chill 
dampness in it that presaged snow, and the wind 
had enough stren^h to whistle mournfully 
through the cracks about the door that opened 
from their room directly into the yard. She 
had a sub-consciousness of all this. The thing 
that was now making her heart beat like a ham- 
mer, was a series of bumps against the win- 
dows; sometimes just plain bumps, then varia- 
tions of bumps; then noises like — she did not 
know what they were like — only they were loud, 
and the ground shook sometimes. At first she 
could not see distinctly, but with intent looking 
toward the windows, very tall forms darkly 
loomed up before both the low windows, as 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


6 


though people were looking into the room. Body 
and mind were fast becoming paralyzed, except- 
ing that thumping heart, and every one was 
asleep but herself. There was silence outside 
for what seemed a long time. Probably they 
were studying how to completely destroy them 
all in their beds out on that lonely prairie. She 
had a great desire to get up and call her uncle 
and aunt, and those poor boys sleeping out there 
in the kitchen. It might be indians; she had 
read in history how General Custer and other 
brave men had terrible conflicts with indians 
and it must have been near this very place in 
the great west. As she was the only one awake, 
she suddenly felt a very great responsibility. 

Anne had great faith in powers of persuasion 
used rightly. The indians could see that she 
was only a little girl and not able to hurt them, 
and she might induce them to go away. She 
began tremWingly to pull herself together; set 
her teeth together to keep them from chatter- 
ing, as many a brave man has done, and put her 
feet on the floor as a first step toward going 
to the windows to use powers of persuasion on 
the indians. 

The windows were a little down from the top, 
and, almost noiseless as she had been, her move- 
ments had been heard, for instantly there was a 
succession of sickening bumps against the win- 
dows, that must soon, if kept up, deposit the 
panes of glass on the floor inside. 

Then, Oh ! there were snorts and heavy breath- 


6 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


ing that proved the last straws. “Bears! oh, 
bears ! ^ ’ and with a wild scream she threw her- 
self against the closed door that led into her 
aunt^s room. She could not find the door knob, 
and it required a few more screams to waken 
these hardy children of the prairie. 

Aunt Elizabeth's quiet “T^at is it, dearie 
when she took her into her motherly embrace 
brought tears and more tears, but now no words. 
Then, ^ ‘ Bears I ’ ’ was as much as she could say. 

“Bears!’’ exclaimed her aunt, “You have 
had a bad dream, dear child, there are no bears 
around here,” “Just go in there and see, at 
the windows!” she sobbed. 

They had no light; aunt Elizabeth stepped 
into the room and saw the dark forms pressed 
against the panes, indistinct in the black dark- 
nes, and heard the terrifying bumps. She did 
not laugh or make a comment, but put warm 
foot covering on Anne and herself, wrapped 
quilts about them and said, “Now Anne, I see 
we must get acquainted right away with those 
bears ; they and I are very good friends as you 
will see.” 

Taking Anne’s not too willing hand she 
opened the west door leading from the room 
into the yard, and stepped out into the dark- 
ness and around the corner of the house. 

“Here Daisy, here Jack, Andy, Peter, Red- 
wing, aren’t you ashamed to frighten a little 
girl ? ” a small drove of horses crowded around, 
each one trying to get some of the petting. 


AN UNWIIvUNG TRAVELER 


7 


Then Anne laughed, a pleased yet tremulous 
laugh; ‘‘I am glad you have so many horses, but 
it was scary, because I did not know.^’ 

^‘On nights when it is cold and windy, the 
horses come close to the house for shelter and, 
I often think, for company too. This is the 
sheltered side tonight.’’ 

Next morning, when uncle Matthew had heard 
the story, very kindly told, he pulled Anne to 
his knee, tweaked her ear and said, ‘‘Wasn’t 
it strange Miss Anne, that you never thought 
they might be coyotes T’ 

And truly, that openly suggested fear had 
never come into her mind. 


Chapter II. 


Anne was all eyes that first morning on the 
ranch, while Veronica was preparing a basin 
of water and a clean towel for her. Not mental- 
ly cataloguing things, as an older person would 
have done, but putting her sharp observations 
away where they would be ready for future use. 
Had she been older, she might have paid a 
tribute to those people of eastern education, 
enduring, even enjoying, strenuous pioneer life 
in this new country. It is a great change from 
the luxurious city bath-room to the family wash 
basin or tub filled at the well. 

The people who came out here from the old 
world unacquainted with American luxury be- 
come common necessity, had not so much sense 
of loss. It is the pioneer’s lot to cook, eat, 
sleep, in the room that must perforce, serve 'as 
store room and work room as well. But the 
whole big prairie is theirs, and it is out of doors 
where they spend the greater part of their ex- 
istence. 

A real pioneer feels that there is no such 
place in the world as the acres where he home- 
steaded, turned the virgin sod, harvested some 
bumper crops and lost not a few; where he often 
had to lay on a mortgage to find seed; where 
the danger of fires is great, and the danger of 
storms greater; where the wind will often blow 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


9 


the seed out of the ground or lay a good crop 
flat; where it does not rain for months in some 
years ; but he thanks God for the buffalo grass, 
that nutritious, close curled carpet of the 
prairies, and for the fertile land and everlast- 
ing sunshine ; the beauty of the firmament ; and 
breathes a freedom impossible where tall build- 
ings are always oppressing one. 

Anne was an adaptable little girl and per- 
formed her ablutions in the basin, and set the 
bedding out on the prairie in the sweet air of 
the beautiful morning, as though that was 
the one way to do these things. 

There was plenty of time before breakfast 
to take a look into the barn where the work 
horses, and some of the cattle, were having 
breakfast; and out to the corral where were 
many more eating; then they were let out to 
go to the watering tub for a drink. This big 
tub was about seven feet in diameter, and over 
two feet deep, and when the lock was taken off 
the wings of the pump that shot high up into the 
air to catch all the breeze, they began to revolve 
and the water flowed into the tub; if the boys 
forgot to lock it, the overflow made a nice pond 
for the ducks. The pigs, and there were a lot 
of them, were very lively and clean, and she 
learned that pigs are naturally clean if they can 
carry out their own instincts. They like to take 
a mud bath of course, and if they have not 
clean mud, they take a bath just the same. Uncle 
Matthew always kept a pig wallow near the 


10 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


pump, full of water for them. 

It was cold and a little snow had fallen dur- 
ing the night. Breakfast was still in prepara- 
tion, or rather in suspension, no one seemed very 
busy at it, perhaps no one was hungry but Anne. 
Michael came in from the old barn with a hat 
full of smudgy eggs. 

^^What big eggs,’^ said Anne. 

‘ ‘ Duck eggs ; the coyotes got the hen last night 
that was setting on them, ^ ^ said he. 

Would they hatch ducks if a hen sat on 
them?’’ asked Anne. 

‘‘Of course ; I suppose I may as well fire them 
out in the draw,” with the small boy’s readiness 
to engage in smashing things. 

“Don’t you suppose they would hatch?” she 
asked. 

“Naw, I don’t believe, they are ice cold; the 
ducks must be dead, ’ ’ answered Michael batting 
the eggs about unfeelingly. 

“Michael, Michael, do be careful,” warned 
aunt Elizabeth. 

“Oh auntie, isn’t there some way of warming 
and saving them? 

“Well, my dear, it would be a lot of trouble, 
but if you want to try it you may have any 
ducks that come out.” 

Anne was delighted, and wise aunt Elizabeth 
foresaw that an interest might not be a bad 
thing in these first few days. 

After breakfast they lined a large dripping 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


11 


pan with old, soft cloths and some feathers, and 
set it on top of the water tank of the stove. 
Corn cobs formed their principal fuel, so the 
water was never very warm, just right for the 
chilled eggs. 

Anne was to turn them every day so that 
both sides would be warmed, and at night they 
were shut up in the oven with a warm flat-iron. 
On the third morning, when she raised the cloth, 
a funny little live thing was sprawling weakly 
about, and several eggs were picked. Toward 
evening three more came out, and one egg that 
had been among the first picked, was still un- 
broken. 

think we will have to help this little fel- 
low out,’’ said aunt Elizabeth, Would you 
like to do itf it must be done very gently.” 

With eager, yet delicate fingers, Anne raised 
bits of shell with a penknife, every little while 
taking otf a small piece ; there was danger that 
the little duck was stuck to his house somewhere. 
After a couple of hours he too sprawled outside 
the shell, exhausted, and aunt Elizabeth was a 
little serious. ‘^He won’t live, he is too far 
gone ; when they are chilled in the egg they sel- 
dom live; I fear for all but this fellow, who 
walks all over his brothers and sisters. An- 
other good one may come out.” 

Every egg hatched, to Anne’s great delight, 
but only two were good for anything, as the 
boys said. 

To Anne they were alive and needed mother- 


12 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


ing. She had wanted to feed them as soon as 
they came out of the shell, but was told that 
part of the yolk of the egg still remained in the 
little stomachs, and they would not need any- 
thing for a couple of days. 

At the end of the week the pitiful brood was 
still stumbling weakly about in a big pasteboard 
box, with a little sand and tiny pebbles in the 
bottom. Every morning she made what the boys 
called a warm bread and milk poultice, in a nice 
clean can cover, for their breakfast. It was a 
great wonder to her that they did not know 
how to eat or drink. She had to gently dip each 
bright yellow bill into food and water many 
times before they would try to help themselves. 
They would get into it with both feet, but never 
think it was to eat. It was some time before 
they would try to help themselves, or look at 
the cracked grain, and a constant system of 
education was necessary to get them to swallow 
the sand and grit, and in this Anne sympathized 
with the ducklings, as she could not see how 
they could be appetizing. 

Some of them plainly had the blind staggers, 
and a speedy demise might be looked for, but 
not by Anne, who was only learning. She came 
out one morning and found two blue and lifeless. 
Taking them into her lap she wept bitter tears, 
and could not eat her breakfast. The next day 
there were other victims, and Anne’s eyes were 
swollen, and her unhappiness great. 

That night uncle Matthew said to his wife, 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


13 


any more ducks are dead tomorrow I shall 
play undertaker, and someone watch during the 
day. If she does not see them dead, she will 
not take it so hard; I think they will nearly 
all go, and we will have the child ill over them.^^ 

He buried one the next morning early, and 
they died at intervals during the week, some 
one managing to get them out of the way while 
Anne was busy. 

There came a time when there were no more 
deaths, and two fluffy objects bade fair to eat 
the other feathered tribes out of house and 
home. 

Aunt Elizabeth had reasoned with Anne about 
the others ; they were so weak and sickly, they 
were much better off dead, etc. Anne did not 
quite appreciate auntie ^s reasoning ; she had not 
watched and mothered them, and it sounded a 
little cold and unfeeling but she knew that aunt 
Elizabeth meant well, she just did not under- 
stand. 

The two ducklings that remained were strong, 
and very cunning, and knew their little mistress. 

It was very pleasant weather now. 

‘‘Uncle Matthew, would it be all right if I 
took some of those pieces of rock and built a 
pen for my ducks?’’ 

“Take all you want; ask the boys to bring 
you the pieces you want. I think in front of 
the corral would be just about the right spot,” 
indicating a place about fifty yards from the 
house. There were small magnesia rocks all 


14 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


over the place, and the children had a forenoon 
of sport gathering them. Anne had ideas of 
her own and under her direction they built quite 
a creditable round enclosure about eight feet 
across, and the wall eighteen inches high, and 
a foot thick, with no opening at all. The ducks 
were supposed to stay in, and Anne could easily 
step over the wall. On one side was placed a 
wooden box with a curtain over the front to 
keep the wind out, and on the floor were hay 
and rags for their sleeping quarters. It was 
evident that Anne did not know all about duck 
habits, hut then, also, these ducks were ditfer- 
ent ; had they been raised by a duck mother or 
a sensible hen, the story would have been very 
tame indeed ; but raised as they were, anything 
presented to them was all right, they did not 
know any better. They took very kindly to the 
pen after the first lonesome throes away from 
the gay and warm kitchen, and for >awhile, when 
Anne brought them their warm bread and milk, 
she must stay until the last morsel was gobbled 
down, else there was no eating at all, and their 
cries were heart-rending if she started to leave ; 
so she stood patiently by while they were eat- 
ing, cocking their little eyes up at her between 
the mouthfuls to be sure she was still there. 
When she condescended to hold the can cover 
while they ate, their happiness was complete, 
and voiced in the funniest little noises, that al- 
ways made her laugh; but their table manners 
were so bad, they both always wanted to eat 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


15 


out of the same spot in the can cover, that 
there was always as much on the ground as they 
had eaten. She always made them pick it all 
up, but holding the dish for them was to be 
considered a very great treat. 

No one gave her any advice or information 
about her ducks unless asked for it; they were 
all very much interested in the experiment and 
its unusual phases, and preferred that she would 
carry out her own ideas. 

She was saying one morning that she had been 
on the ranch a month and had not heard a coyote. 

‘‘You do not stay awake long enough,’’ John 
said. 

“Then I must some night; is it very dread- 
ful?” 

“Oh, not so very,” said John looking at 
Michael, who was grinning broadly. 

One evening some visiting ranchers had stayed 
to supper. They had departed early on account 
of their long ride, and Anne retired soon after 
with a little headache. She was very restless* 
and dozed and woke half a dozen times. There 
seemed to be a dozen dogs barking about, some- 
times near the house, oftener far away. There 
were only two dogs at the ranch and one little 
fellow at the house across the way, that seldom 
barked. The moon was in the first quarter and 
glinted through the closed blinds. 

Suddenly there was a prolonged, awful 
squawking, then after a little while silence. Anne 
listened, not sensing what it might be. 


16 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


In a short time there was a renewal of the 
squawking, more agonized and prolonged ; ‘ ‘ My 
ducky daddies,’’ she thought, with anguish for 
her pets; ‘‘the coyotes are getting my ducky 
daddies. ’ ’ 

She lay listening to their cry for help, not 
daring to take that trip across the lonely yard. 
An ominous silence followed after a few more 
vigorous squawks, then she turned her face to 
her pillow and cried. She knew that waking the 
tired family who had worked hard all day, was 
out of the question, and she felt a keen sense of 
loss ; her cunning duckies I 

While she was wondering if it hurt them much 
to be eaten, there was a very loud and vigorous 
renewal of the call for help from the two per- 
secuted hut still living ducklings, and the spirit 
of helping the suffering that lives in most of us, 
came to the fore, <and in spite of her fear of 
the coyotes, (she had not the least idea what 
they were), she determined to go to their res- 
cue. The harking of the dogs was sociable, and 
she was not afraid of dogs. Taking uncle Mat- 
thew’s thick, knobby, blackthorn cane from be- 
hind the piano, she put on her shoes and long 
coat, and stole out into the night. 

It was not so dark after she got out, and 
Daisy, wandering about, whinnied, and the 
smallest dog followed her down to the pen. 
Nothing there; no sound, not even fluffy feath- 
ers. A little afraid of snakes, she put her hand 
cautiously behind the curtain, and with a start 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


17 


felt something that was soft, but not like duck- 
lings, and when mistress Kitty sprang out of 
the box and ran just in time to escape Anne^s 
descending cudgel, the disturbance was ex- 
plained. ‘‘No need for ducks to be so comfort- 
able, ’ ’ kitty must have reasoned. 

But where were the ducky daddies ? She called 
softly, “Ducky daddies, ducky daddies,’’ but 
there was no response. They had always an- 
swered her calls, and whenever she had passed 
their box after they had retired, she always 
called to reassure them, never failing to receive 
a reply in their own peculiar fashion. She looked 
all around. They were so white she must see 
them, but there was not a sign. They had never 
before climbed over the stone wall of their pen, 
but probably fear of the midnight marauder 
had given them new strength. It could not be 
possible that the cat had eaten them, they were 
so big — ^the vixen! Sorrowfully she retraced 
her way to the house, straining her eyes into 
the shadows and calling softly. Then she saw 
something in the gloom between the kitchen and 
the house, and going nearer, there were the two 
daddies close together like a big white figure 
eleven, their necks stretched to an astonishing 
height, not uttering a peep, their little wings 
glued tight to their bodies, as motionless as 
statues, either piqued that help had not come 
sooner, or done up from previous efforts. 

“You poor little daddies,” said Anne, very 
softly, so as not to waken the sleepers in the 


18 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


house. They seemed only too willing to be 
gathered into her skirt, and she took them down 
into the storm cellar where there was a warm 
box which was their refuge on wet days, for 
Anne had not yet realized that they were just 
ducks. 


Chapter III. 

All the family knew about the night adven- 
ture with the ducks, but no one would refer to 
it unless Anne broached the subject, and she 
did not, being afraid they would begin to think 
her a nuisance, but she said at the table next 
day, ‘‘I cannot see what any one could want 
with so many dogs,’’ and mentioned the solo 
and concerted performances of the night before. 

‘‘Yes, he was pretty lively last night; was 
hungry I suppose,” said uncle Matthew. 

“He! why, there were lots of them,” main- 
tained Anne stoutly, not meaning to contradict. 

“That was our coyote,” said John, “he makes 
as much noise as four or five, that is one of 
the funny things about a coyote; he seems to 
like us, and the little dog often answers him. 
There might be two, but we have killed them 
off pretty well around here on our coyote hunts ; 
we would be lonesome without a few.” 

Anne asked if they were like wolves, and would 
they eat anyone. 

“They are a little like wolves in appearance, 
though not so large, and we know they are great 
cowards, only coming out of their burrows at 
night to steal poultry. Hardly anyone ever sees 
them in the daytime, and they avoid people at 
all times.” 

“Aunt Lucy and her brother want you to 
come over there and stay a week; I believe we 


20 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


shall miss you very much.’’ Anne wondered 
why ; aunt Elizabeth had such a nice way of say- 
ing things. 

‘‘It won’t he so lively there; may he you will 
be lonesome,” said Agnes. 

Anne wondered what answer she should make ; 
it seemed impolite to say she would not be lone- 
some away from her relatives who had been so 
good to her, yet she wanted to go to visit aunt 
Lucy very much. 

“I shall come back again and I would not 
let aunt Lucy know I was lonesome.” 

Behind Andy, the old family horse, John drove 
her those four delightful miles through the 
sparkling air. Often a tiny animal would sit 
up sociably in the road awaiting them; John 
told her they were prairie dogs, they lived in 
burrows and there were thousands of them. They 
saw a few jack-rabbits sitting up looking at 
them over the prairie grass, and one Molly Cot- 
tontail, who was very shy and scuttled away 
when she saw them looking at her. 

“Why does jack-rabbit sit up so boldly, and 
the other run away?” she asked. 

“Because we don’t eat jacks, but Molly makes 
a fine rabbit pie.” 

“Oh!” 

Up and down the prairie they went at Andy’s 
leisure, who seemed to know that this little 
girl wanted to see everything. 

“What are those big weeds in the grain field, 
John?” 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


21 


“Thistles.’’ 

“Why do you not pull them out?” 

That amused the young farmer who had 
planted that stretch of wheat; “Why, you just 
could not do it.” 

“Why not? doesn’t it spoil the grain, and 
when it goes to seed won’t there be more?” 

“Well, it is not good for the wheat, and there 
are always plenty of them,” said John. 

“But don’t other people pull them?” 

“If they hadn’t anything else to do, I sup- 
pose they would, but that does not often hap- 
pen.” 

“Do you know, John, if that was my wheat 
I would have it the very best there was,” said 
Anne with quite a little decision. 

John reached round and pulled her broad hat 
down over her face, chuckling with amusement 
at this small farmer theorist. 

“There is a man down near the village who 
has the finest wheat about here; I will show 
you when we drive to church Sunday.” 

Anne said nothing more for quite a while, 
and did not even notice the monster that was 
crossing the road. It was a big snake nearly 
five feet long, in mottled colors, mainly brown, 
and would have been beautiful had he not been 
a snake. 

“Ugh!” she shuddered when she saw him; 
snakes were outside her pale of likes. 

“He is harmless, and kills lots of other snakes 
that are not harmless.” 


22 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


She refused to talk about him at all, and 
was much put out with J ohn when he called her 
attention to a long string of snakes hung oyer 
the single barbed wire that did duty as a line 
fence, by the farmer who had killed them. 

‘ ‘ What a lovely song ! ’ ’ 

‘‘That is the same bird that wakes me up 
every morning singing on our roof,’’ said John, 
his eyes twinkling. 

Anne always had to look at John when he 
said things because she had found out that he 
teased. 

“It is too bad that you have only one bird 
in this big place.” 

That made J ohn laugh ; then he stopped teas- 
ing and pointed out the fields of sorghum, kaffir 
corn, alfalfa, all sweet with myriads of fine 
flowers, with many bees busy over it, and he 
showed her the difference between the grains, 
as they passed. 

When John was driving off after leaving 
Anne, a little wistful, with aunt Lucy, he called 
back “Don’t get too sleepy to watch the eclipse 
tomorrow night.” 

“Oh, indeed not!” 

She and most of the family had gotten up at 
three or four o’clock in the morning, very fre- 
quently during the past few weeks, to watch the 
progress of Halley’s comet that had finally en- 
veloped the earth in its wonderful train, which 
had passed through it without apparent result 
of any kind, to their great disappointment. They 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


23 


had all been learning all they could about com- 
ets from every available source. 

Tomorrow there was to be a total eclipse of 
the moon fully visible there. 

Aunt Lucy^s house was the old homestead, 
and had four good sized rooms. The floors were 
bulged up and tippy in places, and you had an 
uncomfortable feeling that you had to watch 
every step, but otherwise it was a stout building 
and weatherproof. The rooms were nicely 
papered over the board walls, and though there 
was nothing fine about it, the place was bright 
and cosy. 

Aunt Lucy was uncle Matthew’s sister, and 
lively, always seeing the funny side of every- 
thing. 

You will have to watch out for this chicken,” 
her aunt cautioned her as they entered the 
kitchen, ^ ‘ he belongs in that box under the stove 
but because I took him into the house he seems 
to think it is his proper home, and follows me 
everywhere. It is an incubator chicken that did 
not do very well with the others. Maybe he 
will make friends with you.” 

Aunt Lucy gave her a few crumbs, and he ate 
them out of her hand, but cautiously, as though 
he were doing her a favor. 

^^Now, if you had a bug you would see him 
jump. ’ ’ 

bug! perhaps I can catch one.” ^ 

^‘Or a worm,” said aunt Lucy, with a sly 
glance; she thought that rather a test, as she 


24 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

herself did not care to get too close to such 
things. 

‘‘Whichever conies first,’’ said Anne happily. 

She could not quite decide whether it was in- 
teresting to see that fluffy mite spear the worm 
with his sharp little bill, and the way he sprang 
at it, greedy little thing, with his wings out- 
spread as though this was a mortal enemy, at 
last in his power. But for all that, when he 
permitted her to pick him up, just liefore his 
bed-time, and hold him gently against her breast, 
peeping softly all the time in perfect satisfac- 
tion with his new shelter, she forgot all about 
his horrid meal. 

The next evening after supper aunt Lucy 
said, “Daniel has been cultivating all day and 
does not feel like staying up to see the eclipse, 
and if you are too tired you may go to bed.” 
Daniel was aunt Lucy’s young brother. 

“Oh, aunt Lucy, don’t you want to see the 
eclipse?” 

“Yes, indeed, hut I would not want you to 
stay up just to keep me company. ’ ’ 

It was one more evening not to be lorgotten. 
The air was quite chilly, but the sky was cloud- 
less, and the full moon glorious ; the comet was 
glowing in the western sky with a faint, glim- 
mering streamer. There was the grand silence 
of the prairie, and the immensity of the universe 
about them. 

They made excursions into the house to get 
warm, every few minutes, then eagerly runnning 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


25 


out again for fear of missing something of that 
grand panorama; they both wanted to see the 
very first of the earth’s shadow on the moon. 
It seemed a long time before they saw the 
little slice of light gradually being encroached 
upon and after some time the earth began to 
get wierdly dark, and out of the darkness, the 
comet, which had seemed spent after its long 
journey, flashed out in splendor, and its train, 
seeming to be brought out by the shadow, 
streamed upward to the zenith from the oppo- 
site side, like a nearly closed fan with a jewel 
for a rivet. It seemed to be pointing to the 
wonderful spectacle of the moon with its face 
covered, now almost at the zenith too. Anne 
found the scene a little awesome, ‘‘It is God!” 
she exclaimed softly, with a catch in her voice, 
and getting very close to aunt Lucy. 

“It is one of the manifestations of His 
power,” said her aunt reverently, “how could 
anyone view such a sight and not believe in 
Him?” 

“Are there such people, auntie?” 

“Unfortunately, many in these giddy days.” 

They waited until the moon came partly from 
under the shadow; they had almost forgotten 
that they were cold. 

In the quiet happy days that followed, it was 
a joy to be allowed to feed the animals; she 
wanted to shell the corn she threw to the pigs 
to save their teeth, but was easily dissuaded 
when told that it was better for them to crunch 


26 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


it off the cob. Then she found some pigweed 
which Michael had told her how to find, and of 
which the pigs are very fond, and it was a 
healthy exercise pulling it up by the roots, as 
she could not break the stems. Daniel said he 
was glad to have some one to pull weeds. 

‘‘Uncle Daniel, do you pull the thistles on 
your ranch r’ 

“Why, I cut at them as I pass, I donT ex- 
actly pull them. ’ ’ 

“Why don’t farmers pull them, are they not 
bad for the grain?” 

Daniel was also amused, “Why yes, I sup- 
pose they are, and they go to seed and are al- 
ways coming up.” 

“And no one pulls them,” she was musing 
now, “Does that man that has the fine wheat 
have the thistles too?” 

“Well I don’t know that he does.” 

Again Anne mused awhile, then ran out into 
the yard, and she and Jackie, the shepherd dog, 
had a fine romp. 

“You have some trees, uncle Daniel,” Anne 
mentioned at suppertime, “How did you make 
them grow?” 

“They seem to grow very unwillingly; father 
planted them twenty years ago, and they ought 
to be big trees. Every year we have a few 
hpd peaches, and a few wild plums, which are 
nice, and some grapes off the wild grape vines. 
This soil is not right yet for fruit, or else the 
winds are too penetrating. They make a green 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


27 


spot, that is about all we can say/’ 

Many a pleasant moment was passed talking 
to the home folks over the telephone. Every 
ranch had been equipped with this handy in- 
vention by the farmers themselves, who strung 
wires over the barbed wire fences. They were 
quite neat affairs, served by ‘‘central” in the 
village, and the sociability among the ranchers 
was helped very much; indeed, when the bell 
rang, (it was audible in each home that had a 
telephone,) no one felt at all bashful about 
taking down the receiver and joining in the con- 
versation. 

Anne learned that ducky daddies had eaten 
little the first day of her absence, but had taken 
kindly to Veronica, the youngest cousin, and 
seemed to be satified. Such is life ! This was 
told her to make her mind easy so that she 
could enjoy her visit, but she had some sharp, 
jealous pangs, that they could so soon forget 
her. 

When aunt Elizabeth drove over after her on 
Saturday, Anne could not quite analyze her 
feelings, l3ut it amounted to the fact that when 
aunt Elizabeth asked her how she felt, she sud- 
denly bubbled over with spirits and happiness 
and exclaimed, “Auntie, I feel that I could fly!” 
and her bright eyes and glowing checks bore 
her out ; that little change had done wonders. 

She felt that she should enjoy going back with 
aunt Elizabeth if aunt Lucy would go too ; and 
as the western men can cook, there was no rea- 


28 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


son why annt Lucy conld not leave Daniel for 
a little while especially as she fixed everything 
handy for him before going; he was way out 
on the ranch and had taken a lunch, so there was 
no way of letting him know, she knew the first 
thing he would do would be to telephone to uncle 
Matthew’s, so they all had a very lively evening 
afc the other ranch. 

When uncle Matthew read his New York 
paper a few days after, he found something and 
read it aloud. ‘‘Now Miss Anne, how are you 
and aunt Lucy going to square it up with the 
scientists, since they say there was no tail to 
the comet after the earth went through it?” 

“Well, uncle Matthew, wouldn’t you think 
they would come out here where they could see 
something?” and there was quite a little right- 
eous indignation in Anne’s voice. 


Chapee IV. 


beats all how anxious that little thing is 
to be doing something. She wants to pull 
thistles in the wheat field, ’ ^ said uncle Matthew 
one day. 

‘‘Did you let her goV^ asked aunt Elizabeth. 

‘ ‘ Oh yes, a couple of the youngsters are going 
with her to keep her off the wheat, and help 
her ; she would never be satisfied if she did not 
try it.’’ 

“The dear child! it is well she can amuse 
herself in healthy ways; she will soon tire of 
that job, anyway, I fancy.” 

“I am not so sure of that; she has picked 
up, and stowed away everything that was strewn 
about the place that she thought might be use- 
ful.” 

They did cut a lot of thistles, and laid them in 
piles while Charles, the little fellow, tramped 
on the blossoms so they would not go to seed, 
and every day after that, when it was not too 
hot, they added to the prickly pile. Still, a 
seventy-five acre field is a big place. The 
rancher across the way stimulated by such an 
example of industry sent his two boys out into 
his wheat field, so the thistle family had need 
to watch out. 

On their way back to the house, they gathered 
their aprons full of “lamb’s quarter,” which 


30 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


the girls said made fine greens. Anne thought 
that they looked much like weeds; and they 
weeded in the kitchen garden on top of a small 
knoll about a quarter of a mile from the house. 
This garden was the particular care of aunt 
Elizabeth and the girls ; uncle Matthew and the 
boys considering it beneath their dignity as 
farmers to bother with so small a thing; so, 
after John plowed it, they planted it in potatoes, 
peas, sweet corn, radishes, lettuce, cabbage, and 
all the good things that grow in gardens. If 
John did not get through his plowing for some 
time they had their planting done in that corner 
laid off for them, and when he came to plant, 
sometimes he forgot the kitchen reservation and 
planted the grain on top of it, and when the 
grain and vegetables came up together there 
was an outcry. But John always took it as a 
joke, so also the other male members of the 
family, though they enjoyed the fruits of the 
garden as much as anyone. 

^‘Wliat is that place way off that looks like 
pink hills 

They were standing on the brow of the low 
hill with a vast country spread out before them. 

‘‘That is Castle Rock; picnic parties go there 
sometimes; maybe mamma would let us go on 
the fourth, it is a very curious rocky place, and 
is about eight miles away.’^ 

Not much coaxing was required; the picnic 
was planned and aunt Lucy was forthwith ap- 
pealed to over the telephone to act as chaperone, 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


31 


as aunt Elizabeth and uncle Matthew did not 
care to explore the rocks again after several 
strenuous experiences. 

When the morning of the fourth dawned 
most beautifully, it found all the young people 
in such a bustle and buzz, and packing of lunch, 
and deciding what would be best to wear, as 
they might meet other picnic parties there. 
Aunt Elizabeth had fried some chickens and 
aunt Lucy had brought some generous contribu- 
tions, and they all piled into the big grain 
wagon, most of them sitting on the floor, and 
drove off with the two old reliable horses that 
were almost as good as chaperones, that is, if 
anyone save John had held the reins. 

They passed a lot of buffalo wallows, and the 
horses had to stop while the children got out 
and raced around them a few times. 

Anne had to know all about these miniature 
circus rings made many years ago by the big 
monarchs of the prairie. The children knew a 
lot about the buffalo or bison, which is its proper 
name. They used to wander over the prairies 
in herds of thousands, and were almost the 
whole subsistence of the indians, who roamed 
the prairies likewise, and as wild and free as the 
bison. The coarse but nutritious flesh was their 
food ; the hump, roasted in the skin being a 
great delicacy; the hides dressed with the hair 
were their robes, and denuded of hair, their 
tents. 

The bison loved to wallow in mud, and after 


32 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


rains constructed these rings, or wallows, as 
everyone called them, by rolling around in a 
puddle of water ; one after the other of the big 
animals churning their great length about in 
the mud until it was quite symmetrical and 
nearly two feet deep. 

When every place was dry there was neply 
always water in the wallows, but now no bison 
to enjoy themselves in it. j^ne was quite re- 
lieved when she found there was no danger of 
meeting any. She had seen the herd of enor- 
mous big bisons in Bronx Park, New York, 
and though they appeared gentle there, it could 
not be promised that a wild one would be on 
such good behavior. 

John said even the wild ones were gentle, 
and were never known to chase anyone. The 
stampede of thousands, of course was a differ- 
ent thing; pressed on by the frightened rear, 
they had to run, and woe to whatever lay in 
their path. 

^‘Then the buffalo robes are bison skins T’ 

‘‘Yes, and the Galloway cow skins frequently 
appear in a pony coat.^’ 

“Well, the Galloway doesn’t need to ho 
ashamed,” said aunt Lucy, “and if you get out 
at any more buffalo wallows we will never get 
there.” 

‘ ‘ Bison wallows, auntie, hut you know they are 
not often dry enough to play in.” 

John gave the horses a clip that made them 
spring, and everyone fell back on everyone 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


33 


else, which was probably what John had in 
view, and for a number of miles he literally led 
them a dance; it was up hill and down dale, 
and on neither side was the road in good con- 
dition, and when he saw a particularly deep 
rut, down he went into it, with one wheel, and 
the other three almost useless, and his charges 
hanging upon the uplifted side, shrieking and 
laughing ; aunt Lucy calling to J ohn to be care- 
ful, they might tip over. 

‘‘Well, you told me to hurry, and you won’t 
tip over, don’t you think I can drive?” 

They were not afraid, even aunt Lucy was 
seasoned to that kind of recklessness. 

“Oh, there is the place where they dug up 
the little Indian princess,” exclaimed Veronica, 
pointing to a deep hole in the hillside near the 
fence. 

“A real princess?” asked Anne. 

“They thought so; it was much noised about, 
and after awhile some Indians came and ex- 
amined it and carried it off with great honors 
to the reservation burying ground, miles away. 
She was handsomely dressed, adorned and 
beaded, with embroidered leathers and blankets 
wrapped about her, and sewed up in skins ; she 
was in a very good state of preservation, she 
could not have been more than twenty years 
old.” 

“How did they happen to find her?” 

“Mr. Balcom was digging a post hole for his 
road fence when he came upon it. I have no 


34 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


doubt there are others buried there. ’ ^ 

'‘Wasn't it just beyond there that Lorry 
Williams saw that — " 

"Never mind that now, John." 

"Well, I would like to know why I cannot tell 
a story too." 

"We want you to drive, not to tell stories," 
said Agnes, and really it seemed as though the 
male members of the family were not to have 
that privilege. 

"There's Hope City," said Agnes, "we must 
go through there in fine style." 

"I don't see any city," said Anne. 

"Don't you see those four houses and barns? 
and there is a store there too ; I can assure you 
that is a big town out here. You see there are 
four big ranches that come to corners there, and 
they are all friends, and they built on those 
corners for company." 

"There are about forty dogs," said Anne. 

Children were firing a few crackers and tor- 
pedoes about the little store. 

They managed to find a few pennies among 
them, aunt Lucy added a few more and they 
stopped at the store and got some candy ; every- 
one was out in a flash to say "good morn- 
ing" and to ask where they were going. No one 
had passed that way to the rocks so they might 
have it all to themselves. 

The delicate colors of the chalk formations 
were beginning to take form, but not until they 
reached the rather steep brow of a hill, the 


AN UNWII.L.ING TRAVELER 


35 


road down wMcli led through a lovely green 
valley, could they distinguish any outlines. 

‘‘Now, John, donT spill us all out when we 
are so near — ^my, look down there ! ^ ’ 

John was just preparing to take the plunge 
when he pulled up and surveyed the valley, 
which was basin shape as though it might have 
been a deep lake in far-off times. They could 
see a little brook trickling its way at the bottom 
of the hill through tall luscious grasses, and a 
surrounding greenness that they had seen no- 
where else. For two or three miles the valley 
stretched itself out, and it was about a mile 
straight across that luxuriant bottom to the 
“ Rocks. “Do you think it will be safeV^ 
asked aunt Lucy. 

John considered a moment, “Now, you all 
sit still and don’t make any quick moves, or 
talk or laugh loud; above all, don’t act as 
though you were scared, and we will get through 
all right. You see that big fellow standing 
nearest to the meadow road at the right? Well 
I have figured that’s the leader, whatever he 
does the others will do, so we must make friends 
with him by acting as though it was all right. 
I am going to drive real slow, and don’t lose 
your heads. To tell the truth, I am thinking 
of the horses. I know they will not be afraid, 
but you can’t always tell how cattle will take 
them; the wagon protects us.” ^ 

There was little need to caution them. The 
prairie teaches self-control, but Anne, who had 


36 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


not had that training, turned white, and could 
not join in the quiet conversation they kept up. 

‘^DonT look too steady at them.^’ 

There were about three hundred of them; 
massive bodied, frightfully horned Texas cattle, 
feeding in the valley, part on each side of the 
narrow road they had to traverse, and very 
near the road. 

John could have touched many of them with 
his whip, scarcely reaching out. As the wagon 
came along, the big leader lifted his head quick- 
ly and eyed them in anything but a friendly way. 
Anne felt her heart in her mouth when she saw 
the spread of those awful horns. On the other 
side they also stopped feeding and looked watch- 
ful, and not too pleased at these bold intruders 
into their domain. 

‘‘I think it is all right now,’’ said John, when 
they were just opposite the big fellow; don’t 
say anything about them, talk about other things, 
you never know what animals sense, and they 
make up their minds quickly; see! the old fel- 
low has dropped his head and is eating again; 
keep just the same until we get out of sight of 
them. ’ ’ 

Every one breathed freer, when the animals 
were left behind, and aunt Lucy said, Thank 
God!” very fervently. 

wonder whose they are?” 

Time was when a big drove of cattle would 
have caused no wonder in this part of the west ; 
now, grazing had given way to agriculture. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


37 


' They found a nice place for the team, shelt- 
ered by the rocks, where they could feed the 
length of their tether. 

The ‘^Rocks’’ were part of a pinkish yellow 
chalk blutf, about one hundred feet high, that 
extended along the valley for about half a mile. 
By weather and erosion, the blutf had been 
washed out and denuded of the softer portions, 
and pinnacles, arches, caves, natural bridges 
and subterranean passages were plentiful. One 
place was particularly beautiful, almost as 
though the hand of an architect had been at 
work. It was hard to reach from below; but 
after climbing up to the top of the blutf, one 
could come down inside the ^ ‘ cathedral, ^ ’ by 
means of some rude approches made in the 
steep sides by picnic parties. Every rock was 
as smooth as though chiselled; the delicate 
coloring of fine marble. 

Here and there a vine was hardy enough to 
make a short tour round a column,, after find- 
ing for its seed a bed of dust that would hold 
the copious dews that fell every night. Other- 
wise there was little verdure for no moisture 
would remain on the chalk surfaces. 

It must have been a prime place for the 
Indians to hide and live in. Some of the caves 
were of quite good size. J ohn had his gun, and 
shot a couple of prairie chickens, and four Mol- 
ly Cottontails, while wandering about the blulfs 
by himself. He was up to all sorts of tricks; 
climbing to the top of some of the high pin- 


38 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


nacles, and balancing himself on the apex. Once 
he entered one of the tunnels and was so long 
inside exploring, that they were all frightened, 
and called and called before he answered. He 
had to crawl on his hands and knees, evidently 
not afraid of snakes. There was a certain 
beauty about the rocks ; it was a place to dream 
in, and the ‘‘Castle Rock’’ was a tall portion 
at quite a distance from the cliff, and entirely 
by itself; about as large as a house, and the 
highest peak about seventy-five feet high. One 
could climb to the top, as John and one of the 
girls did, by clinging to some bushes that had 
found lodgement in its sides, but it was a steep 
ascent. There was a nice flat place on the 
shady side and here they laid the cloth for din- 
ner, and made a royal repast sitting on the 
ground, with hunger for seasoning. 

Aunt Lucy reminded John that she was not 
sure he had any right to kill the prairie chickens. 
“You might get arrested,” said Veronica. 

“I’ll just imagine I am a millionaire,” said 
John. 

“Why,” asked Anne. 

“Why you know they come out here every 
year by the hundreds. The railroads run ex- 
cursion trains at different times in the year, 
and they run over everybody’s land and you 
are lucky if you don’t lose your ducks and 
turkeys, too. They shoot everything they see. 
Wliat’s the use of the farmers protecting the 
game, never shooting the choice game, when they 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


39 


come and snap it all np. They have grand shoot- 
ing outfits.’^ 

They climbed to the top of the cliff by a 
different way, and when they saw a level floor 
of prairie stretching for miles, it seemed as 
though they had come np ont of a pit to the 
level. A small cabin was at a little distance, 
and they walked toward it thinking to find the 
tenant at home. The place was deserted. No 
crops were in, and the place had evidently been 
abandoned. 

John, who knew everything about every one 
around there, said that several tenants had tried 
to live there and failed, because of the difficulty 
of getting water, which had to be carted in 
barrels a distance of five miles ; the chalk cliffs 
discouraging every effort to bore for water on 
top of the bluff. 

They opened the door, an easy matter, and 
went in. A large bed occupied the largest part 
of the cabin, and a cook stove and table took 
up nearly the whole of the room that remained. 
There was evidence of recent occupation, and 
they thought the last tenant must be occupying 
it part of the time to keep his homestead. They 
could see the smoke of the railway trains off 
north, trailing along the horizon at least fifteen 
miles away. 

‘‘Now, girls and boys, said aunt Lucy after 
they had played tag and “drop the handker- 
chief’’ with an accompanying ditty about a 
green and yellow basket, and were having a 


40 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


breathing spell, ‘‘It is going to rain, and very 
soon, too, so we must hurry away/’ 

Big black clouds, unnoticed, had banked^ up 
in the southwest and were rapidly approaching. 
The cattle which had been a menacing feature 
in the morning, had strayed further away, and 
John and the horses made very fine time along 
the rough road, and it might be supposed that 
if they had not held on to the wagon they might 
all have been bounced out on the roadside among 
the pretty yellow cactuses, and the prairie sun- 
flowers. 

The inmates of every house they passed 
warned them to hurry, and when they reached 
Hope City, every one wanted them to stop over 
until the storm, which was now very near, should 
have passed. But all felt the same about it, as 
there were uncle Matthew and aunt Elizabeth, 
who would be worrying, and storm or no storm, 
all voted to go on. 

“We don’t have a big rain very often in the 
year, but when it comes, it leaves an impres- 
sion,” said Agnes. 

John did not have to urge the horses; they 
seemed to feel the necessity for haste, and the 
thunder had begun to crash, and there was sharp 
lightning and wind; several times a few large 
drops fell, then when they were about three 
miles from home, it broke. 

The rain came down in sheets, and having 
one umbrella among them, the others used a 
carriage robe to tent themselves under. John 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


41 


turned up his coat collar and turned down his 
hat, and attended strictly to getting home. 

The crashes were frightful, and the lightning 
was sharp; once they saw it plow a big rent 
in the earth at some distance from the road. 
The water in the wagon box did not run out 
quite so fast as it came in, so they all had to 
stand up part of the way holding their cushions. 
But they all laughed and joked a great deal, and 
did not take it seriously. 

When they drove into the yard at a fine speed, 
uncle Matthew had opened the gate, they yelled 
and made a great deal of noise as though they 
were having a very good time. 

‘‘And to think, said aunt Elizabeth, “that 
it has not rained for nearly twelve weeks, and 
that it should choose just this day.’’ 

“Never mind, auntie, we had a splendid time, 
and had a lot of fun coming home. ’ ’ said Anne. 

“You know it nearly always rains on the 
“glorious,” said John. 

Aunt Elizabeth had to collect all the dry gar- 
ments in the house; they already had the fire 
kindled so that they would not be chilled, and 
it felt very comfortable after they were all in 
dry clothes, and the wet garments made the 
kitchen a very damp place for a while. 

“This will spoil our fire works.” 

“Were we going to have fire works?” asked 
aunt Lucy. 

We can have them tomorrow night,” said aunt 
Elizabeth. 


42 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELLER 


‘^Then I’ll invite myself over with Daniel.” 

‘If you do not have to stay here,” said 
Michael. 

And it rained so steadily that they telephoned 
to Daniel that aunt Lucy was going to stay all 
night, maybe all next day, and that he was in- 
vited to come over tomorrow evening and help 
set oft the fire works. 


Chapter V. 


The daddies were big enough to climb out of 
their pen, but they did not seem to want to 
try. Perhaps Daisy had something to do with it. 
Daisy was a magnificent big black two-year old 
horse, that roamed everywhere according to her 
inclinations, never having to work, nothing to 
do but play and receive much attention ; indeed, 
the dogs and cat were not closer to the domestic 
influences than Daisy, and she seemed to be 
jealous of the daddies ; at any rate, one day when 
Anne was standing in the lane between kitchen 
and house, she saw Daisy lift her big fore feet, 
yet daintily, and deliberately walk through the 
midst of her precious ducks in their own secure 
fastness. She was so indignant; grasping a 
broom, off she went after the saucy equine. 

Daisy, naughty as could be, kicked up her 
heels in defiance as they cleared the stone wall, 
and was off to the pasture. She actually seemed 
to laugh at Anne as she went. She had taken 
care not to hurt the little helpless bunches of 
fluff, and they did not seem much afraid, though 
huddled close together against the shelter ; per- 
haps animals understand each other. Anne 
took them both in her arms, and went down to 
the watering tank, where Michael and Charles 
were standing looking at something in the tub. 

It looked like a bull frog. Anne asked Michael 


44 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


to hold the ducks while she had her turn poking 
the homely inhabitant of the tank. 

Michael did not seem to think it at all neces- 
sary to hold two ducks where there was a big 
yard, and, yes, a tank of water, but he took the 
ducks and the next thing that happened was a 
great splash, and two big yellow spots on the 
water. 

Anne gave a yell, ‘‘Oh! my daddies will 
drown and was frantic because she could not 
reach them. 

“Michael threw them in,’’ said Charles, and 
both the boys laughed. 

Quick as thought Anne gave Michael a re- 
sounding slap across his cheek, her eyes spark- 
ling with anger at him for trying to drown her 
inoffending pets, then turned her attention 
toward rescuing them. 

Strangely, they did not seem to be struggling ; 
indeed, as she looked, they were swimming 
around in evident enjoyment of this new ex- 
perience. 

“Isn’t that funny?” said Anne to Charles; 
Michael had taken his blow silently, and left 
the scene, not quite understanding the turn of 
affairs. 

“Why ducks can live in the water, didn’t you 
know that?” asked Charles. 

It was a revelation, and not at all an un- 
pleasant thing to know, and she hunted up 
Michael to tell him she was sorry she slapped 
him, and let the ducks have a nice swim. 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


45 


Uncle Matthew had given Anne a little piece 
of garden, fenced in ronghly, near her duck 
pen, for her very own, to plant what she pleased 
in it ; the boys spaded it up and smoothed it off 
and aunt Elizabeth gave her some of the seeds 
that were left after planting the kitchen garden. 

This active little lady knew as much about 
gardening as she did about ducks, but she had 
the gift of observation, a fine thing to have. 
She found it so interesting that she kept a diary 
about it, but that was not open to promiscuous 
examination. She made regular trips to the 
garden on top of the hill to compare notes. 
Everything was planted in neat rows, and she 
did not ask for help from more experienced 
farmers. 

The rainy spell had lasted some days, to the 
delight of the farmers, and every one was in- 
terested to see the weeds, which ordinarily, were 
quite modest in size, shooting up to prodigious 
heights, showing what they could do with a 
good chance. 

There came on some hot weather, not much 
breeze, and a languor in the air. 

Anne was in a rocker in the shade of the 
house, writing in her garden diary; dreaming 
and humming tunes, and drowsing; weeding is 
hard work and she had been very busy at it 
since the kitchen work was finished 

There was a pleasant buzz in the air, and a 
tune came to her, that her mother used to sing 
when Anne was a very little girl. 


46 AN UNWII.LING TRAVELER 

^‘Hark, Lark, Lark! list to the merry hum, 
•The fairy queen in golden sheen, 

Is beating the silver drum!’^ 

There was something over the song that was 
not all golden sheen, but being something of a 
little philosopher, she would not let it remain 
on the surface, so, in her mind, feeling too in- 
dolent to really get up, she chased the handsome 
butterfly, that was fluttering over every long 
grass spear, in purple and black velvet raiment ; 
she talked to it and made believe it answered 
back ; and she called to the meadow lark, sitting 
on the fence not far from her, pouring out 
a glorious flood of melody, strong and clear; 
and they talked for quite a while back and forth ; 
he was a fat, big fellow, and the little dog, jeal- 
ous, probably, wanted to oust him from his hon- 
ored position on the center of the stage, but 
Anne called him back with a very firm voice. 

Every one else was busy; Anne had helped 
as long as they would let her, so her idling was 
pleasant. 

A carriage was coming along. Perhaps it 
would stop ; it did stop — a great event, and aunt 
Clara and baby Jean, two years old, waited at 
the gate until she ran to open it. Aunt Clara 
lived about fourteen miles away. 

A very talkative man came and stayed to din- 
ner, and soon uncle Daniel and aunt Lucy came ; 
it was quite a party, especially when the man 
across the way came over; and when they all 
went out to the corn crib, it looked as though 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


47 


something was going to be done. 

Now she found out why uncle Matthew had 
carried all his corn from the big corn crib near 
the corral, to the new barn ; they were going to 
tear down the old crib, and this talkative gentle- 
man was the ‘‘Pied Piper of the prairie village. 

For every board they took down there was 
a rat killed. 

“I never saw anyone so quick in my life,^’ 
said aunt Clara. 

All the men did good work, but the stranger 
never missed one ; he gave a quick drive with a 
hat that he handled with one hand, at the head 
of every rodent that came out, and it stretched 
out immediately. They counted fifty-seven, and 
the ladies could never understand what became 
of the dead enemy ; they saw them stretched out, 
but never saw them again, and no one en- 
lightened them. 

There were three in the carriage when aunt 
Clara returned home ; Anne was becoming quite 
used to visiting around. 

They stopped at the village store and uncle 
Harry got in. It was market day and there were 
many farm wagons hitched about. 

Anne did not find it so interesting beyond the 
town as it was near home, but when they got 
nearer uncle Harry’s ranch there were more 
trees and the landscape was quite varied. They 
had to cross a little stream by driving through 
it; the water was up to the hubs, and just at 
one side was a big pool of deep, dark water; 


461 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

she was glad when they were on dry land again. 

Uncle Harry knew she had not seen many 
streams on the prairies so he stopped when they 
got np the bank and pointed out the rock where 
he fished lying on his stomach, with his face 
hanging over the black water. 

He said all the men and boys of the neighbor- 
ing ranches came there to take a swim when they 
could. 

There were large, fine trees all along the 
stream and just beyond the house. 

Every house she saw was a little bigger than 
the last ; this one had an upstairs at one end. 

Uncle Harry raised hogs and mules, and there 
were so many he would not let her go farther 
than the fence. She had the baby to play with, 
and they let her feed the chickens, and time flew 
on wings. Aunt Clara made her a nice dress, 
and the hired men often brought her candy. 

It was always very pleasant at meals, the 
only time she saw the men of the family; and 
there was no disputing, but a pleasant good fel- 
lowship. 

Uncle Harry, aunt Clara and Anne, with the 
‘Hairy” as she called the baby, in its carriage, 
walked down to a little cabin set just at the 
edge of a thicket of greenness, about half a mile 
from the house. A young German lived there 
all alone, and farmed about two hundred acres 
beyond his home. It was neat as a pin, inside ; 
only one room, and furnished almost up to the 
rafters. His clothes hung in a neatly made 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


49 


wardrobe ; there were book shelves full of books ; 
school books, travels, Shakespeare, Dickens, 
Goethe and Schiller; the absence of the later 
irreverent school of German literature seemed 
to show him to be one of the kind of men of the 
teutonic race to which that nation owes its 
strength. On the walls were tacked pictures 
taken from magazines and newspapers and the 
pictures even more than the books showed a 
healthy and refined personality. 

Everything was washed up and in its place. 

“You would not find many cabins round here 
like this,’’ remarked uncle Harry; “I say, Clara, 
we would not tell him for anything, but we saw 
that thing right about here — ” 

“Oh, Harry, look out for baby,” exclaimed 
aunt Clara rather hastily, and though Anne 
would have been glad to hear what they saw, 
she did not seem to be able to get the rest of the 
story. 

A peaceful little pond lay just below the cabin 
up against a low blulf, and encircled with trees 
and vines, so they got only occasional glimpses 
of the black water, with a few water lilies rest- 
ing on its surface. 

IJncle Harry had a scolding about something 
when they reached home, and really she began 
to think that the prairie men were a little hen- 
pecked, but like the loyal little soul she was, she 
overlooked all unpleasant circumstances. 

“Aunt Elizabeth will meet us at the village 
tomorrow, honey, and you will drive home with 


50 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


her,’’ aunt Clara said when the time came for 
her to go home. 

Fortunately it was a nice day, and aunt Clara 
carried her butter and eggs to town. 

After canvassing around some, they located 
aunt Elizabeth, who had finished her shopping 
and was visiting her friends. She had stabled 
old Peter in the open stall back of the grocer’s 
house, and, as she said afterward, she really 
ought to have known Peter. 

When they got ready to go home, the stall 
was empty. Some one remembered seeing a 
horse go through the street by himself, and they 
had such a hunt! but a fruitless one. 

‘‘Well, he must have gone home, and I am 
sure I do not know how we shall get home,” 
and aunt Elizabeth was provoked. 

While they were out hunting for Peter, the 
grocer and his wife answered a number of tele- 
phone calls. 

“Have you seen Mrs. McFarren!” was the 
first call; “we are afraid something has hap- 
pened to her ; old Peter stalked by here as though 
he was out for an airing all by himself, not 
noticing any one.” 

This was from a ranch two miles away. 

Another call from further on thought some- 
thing must be wrong, when they saw the horse 
going home alone, but he wouldn’t be caught. 

A Russian farmer who knew aunt Elizabeth 
wanted to know about it, and offered to come 
and bring her home. He had seen her pass in 


AN UNWILLING' TRAVELER 


51 


the morning, and had noticed Peter going back. 

The grocer wife thought best to wait awhile ; 
she would ring him up if necessary. She was 
much amused, hut when the last of these calls 
came, the caller ^s heart was in her mouth. 

‘‘Do you know anything about mamma P’ 
asked Agnes, “old Peter just came walking into 
the yard by himself, and we are much worried. ’ ^ 

The grocer’s wife hastened to assure her 
that her mother was all right, old Peter had 
only gotten tired of standing in the hot stall 
and twisted the halter ring, which was loose, 
until it came out, then without condescending 
to notice anyone had leisurely started on his 
seven-mile walk home. 

In a short time Michael was on the back of a 
fresh horse, and in about an hour he appeared, 
and they went home rather more lively than they 
had expected. 

Every one along the route was waiting for 
them, to hear about it, and aunt Elizabeth could 
only laugh; it would not do any good to scold 
Peter, or send him to bed supperless ; he would 
not know what it was all about ; though no doubt, 
he knew very well that he should have had a 
carriage behind him on his homeward journey. 
For a long time afterward, aunt Elizabeth had 
to hear jokes about how she tired old Peter so 
that he had to come home. 

Anne ran first to her ducks, then to her gar- 
den. Everything was in good order, and an in- 
vitation had arrived to go to FolwelPs ranch 




AN UNWILI.ING TRAVELER 


after cEurcli on Sunday for dinner. 

Tomorrow nigM they were all going to a dance 
at the hall, a building put up by the ranchers 
at a mid-point in the prairie, where they could 
all meet occasionally and dance and have a gen- 
eral good time, which was not at all confined to 
the young people. 

These good times would be the last until after 
harvest, which is a great atfair on the prairie. 
Already the little village was filling up with 
college students, waiters, hobos, and a motley 
crowd from all corners of the country, who knew 
a little about everything save farming, expecting 
to become rich at once; their demands out of 
proportion to their skill, their knowledge of the 
farmers’ need being their surest asset. 


Chaptek VI. 


There was no glamour of preparation for the 
dance. They put on the best they had, which 
included nothing elegant, but became them well 
for all that, and went. The carriage held John, 
aunt Elizabeth and Veronica. The others went 
in the big farm wagon with uncle Matthew and 
the broncos, so they gave the carriage a good 
start, for Peter was in the reins, and the others 
washed the supper dishes, fed the stock, and left 
things in order. 

When they passed a cabin about three miles 
from home, the young rancher was outside, ad- 
justing his stirrups to mount. He was a pale 
thin fellow, about twenty-two. Uncle Matthew 
bade him put up his horse and ‘‘pile in^’ as he 
said, which the young man was very glad to do. 

He had been sent out to the prairies about 
three years before by his father, from a little 
town about a hundred miles away. He had 
had a peculiar heart affection, probably the re- 
sult of cigarette smoking, but that was the last 
cause that would be mentioned by the modern 
male invalid. His father bought six hundred 
acres on the prairie and literally turned him 
out on it, after building him a rough two-roomed 
cabin. 

His mother and sisters came down with a 
load of furniture for a prairie cabin, and fixed 


54 


AN UNWIL.UNG TRAVELER 


it up for him, so that he was quite cosy, and his 
health steadily improved. Now he was doing 
most of the work on his farm and enjoying it 
very much. 

He had many modern improvements on his 
ranch, and it was a resort for the ranchers about 
who were welcome to examine, even to try, the 
new implements. 

He was very talkative, and spent a good part 
of the journey teasing Anne and Agnes, who 
could think of so much meaner things to say 
than he could, that he was glad after awhile to 
take refuge in uncle Matthew ^s opinion of the 
crops, though it was only a good natured battle 
of wits. 

Wlien they could just see the other rig scaling 
along between the wire fences, way ahead, they 
jogged along very leisurely, for to catch up and 
poke along behind Peter would have been ex- 
tremely tedious. 

Other rigs began to appear from other direc- 
tions and when the big hall came in sight, in 
the midst of a lot, all by itself, with a fire guard 
plowed around it, there was an array of vehicles 
of all kinds outside, and a few bicycles. 

The appearance of some little babies, and 
many tots, would have surprised one who did 
not know prairie ways. The sun had not gone 
down yet, so this aspect of the country dance did 
not look so strange as it would had it been dark. 

They were in no hurry to go inside so long 
as it was light, but greeted each other in the 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


56 


sincere contained way the prairie folks have, 
and all the news that had not yet found its way 
over the telephone, went the rounds. 

The musicians had come from the next town; 
a violin, clarinet and bass viol, and they played 
typical dance music. 

When the dew began to fall, they took the 
babies inside and put them to bed in a room that 
had been fitted up for the purpose; the door 
was closed, though often opened during the even- 
ing, and the tots lost none of their accustomed 
rest, while the elders had the best of times. 

It was surprising how well most of them 
danced ; with a grace and freedom that was far 
from being stiff or awkward and had the appear- 
ance of coming from long practice. 

There was no segregation of cliques and ages ; 
the young people and the older ones danced 
together as in the old days, before the spirit 
of youth began to look down upon the spirit of 
age. The idea that the world was made for the 
young had not yet penetrated to these parts. 
The young people did not spoon’’ or flirt. In 
fact it is always a great wonder to outsiders 
when two young people who have been seen 
very little together, marry and set up another 
cabin on the prairie. Yet it might be said that 
from the very meagerness of the social life they 
have most perfect opportunities of knowing 
each other. 

About mid-evening some of the ladies^brought 
out cake and lemonade, and even ice, and 


56 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


flushed groups enjoyed it together. 

At midnight they unpacked the babies again 
from their cribs and they were borne, still sleep- 
ing to be laid in the laps of mothers or sisters, 
for the ride home, unconscious of any change 
in condition or habitation. 

Looking out from the house door one day, 
uncle Matthew ^s eye cought sight of something. 

‘Mt looks as though some one was haying on 
a small scale up in our pasture,’’ he said. ^ 

Anne and the younger children seemed mighti- 
ly amused, but said nothing. 

Aunt Elizabeth came and looked. 

‘‘Well, now, I wonder,” said she, “none of 
us have been cutting hay.” 

There were two good sized hay cocks about 
four feet high neatly piled, not so far from the 
wheat field. It needed investigation. 

That evening at the supper table — so many 
nice things happened at the supper table — when 
each one turned up his plate, a note folded like 
a colonial hat was found under each, neatly ad- 
dressed: 

“You are respectfully invited to a corn roast 
in Mr. Matthew McFarren’s pasture tomorrow 
evening. ’ ’ 

The Committee. 

Some of the persons at the table were fairly 
bursting with excitement. 

“Well, well,” said auntie, “this is a surprise 
and a great pleasure ; I am sure such an invita- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


57 


tion would not be given out unless it could be 
carried through, but, a corn roast — ^why, there 
isn T a spare stick of wood on the place ! ’ ’ 

“Never mind, auntie, we donT need wood; 
just wait and see!^’ exclaimed Anne, enjoying 
the mystery. “We are going to ask you if we 
may have the roasting ears, and if we may invite 
aunt Lucy, uncle Daniel and Mrs. Hudson and 
her family, and the family across the way.’’ 

“Bless your hearts, yes !” said uncle Matthew 
heartily, always pleased when his young people 
were happy. In three days the harvesters would 
be along, and these young persons would have 
two or three weeks of hard work and no play at 
all. 

The guests invited were only too pleased to 
come. The children had exacted a promise from 
the elders not to investigate their preparations 
for the corn roast. John pulled a lot of the finest 
roasting ears, some of them monsters, and it 
must not be omitted that aunt Lucy brought a 
big box of marsh-mallows, that the pale rancher, 
Linley, had contributed, so of course he had to 
be invited, and came with them. 

The sun was about a half hour high, and the 
sky was a glory of gold and pink, as they walked 
through the pasture with great expectations. 

Charles was just bringing the cattle down 
from the upper pasture for water and a little 
feed, and they called to him to hurry; he was 
a little fellow and this was his daily task, but 
Michael broke ranks, and ran to help him, and 


58 


AN UNWII^UNG TRAVELER 


told them not to begin until they came. 

The boys had been thoughtful enough to plow 
a fire guard close around the two pyres, so that 
the grass would not catch fire, and the small 
crowd laughed heartily when they saw what the 
fires were to be made of — ^just thistles, hundreds 
of them. They had forked them over until they 
were fairly dry, and they certainly made a jolly 
fire! 

Uncle Matthew took olf his hat and scratched 
his head, and all he could think of to say, was, 
‘‘It beats all!’’ 

They used the second pile to renew the first. 

After setting fire to the thistles they threw 
on the corn in the husk, and by the time the 
fire had burned down, the corn was daintily done, 
and they ate it with salt. 

It was a great fire and when the quick dark- 
ness came down, it was very nice and cheerful 
out there. 

When they had eaten all the corn, they all 
helped to bring over more thistles for the marsh- 
mallows. J ohn had made a couple of four tined 
miniature pitch forks, stuck in long wooden 
handles, out of clothes-line wire and they put 
a couple of marsh-mallows on each tine, and the 
company was soon plentifully supplied with the 
delicious confection. It putfed out to twice its 
size and there was art in knowing just when to 
pull them away from the fire. Every one wanted 
to take a turn at the roasting, so every one had 
a red face. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


^59 


There were a couple of long boards on some 
boxes for the guests to sit upon and they were 
comfortable with the moon looking down, mak- 
ing the scene very cheerful. Not a sensible word 
was said, of course, no one cared to shine ; they 
let the moon do that, who did it very well. 

Aunt Elizabeth spent Saturday evening trim- 
ming hats for the girls to wear to church and 
to the dinner, which was sure to be a great 
affair as the Folwells were very well to do, and 
very hospitable. 

The hats came out very well, aunt Elizabeth 
had good taste and a ^ ‘ knack. Agnes’ hat was 
trimmed with pink ribbon and a wreath of tiny 
picayune roses was laid all around the crown on 
the turned down brim. 

Sunday was one of the warmest days they had 
had for some time. The long drive to church 
was rather trying to the wagon load, that had no 
top and no umbrellas to keep the hot sun off. 
After reaching the church, as the custom was, 
they all exchanged the time o’ day with the 
neighbors before going into the church. 

Aunt Lucy whispered to aunt Elizabeth, “I 
thought you were going to put a pink wreath on 
Agnes ’ hat. ’ ’ 

“So I did, don’t you see!” 

“Well, no, I don’t see,” replied aunt Lucy, 
taking an inventory of the hat without attract- 
ing too much attention, “it is perfectly white.” 

So it was ! The sun had taken the last bit of 
color out of the delicate flowers, on the way to 


60 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


church ; but Agnes, not being vain, did not notice 
it until she put the hat on the following Sunday. 

All the immediate neighbors were invited to 
the dinner. The Folwells had been on the prairie 
longer that any one in that locality. Their house 
had originally consisted of a dugout, made of 
sod, and excavated from a sheltered spot in a 
knoll. Then one big room had been built, which 
did service for a number of years, rooms being 
added as the family grew up or married, until 
now the house was quite pretentious, consisting 
of six rooms, a pantry and a dairy. The kitchen 
was immense and no doubt, had held many a 
merry party. The other rooms sprangled around 
the first one in cheerful fashion if not a triumph 
of architecture. 

They all sat down together to the bountiful 
dinner and afterward they had big dishes of 
ice cream made from clotted cream, that would 
have made a city restaurateur turn green with 
envy; and when that freezer had been emptied, 
it was refilled with more cream and the ranchers 
had to take turns at the crank until it was ready 
to pack, to be served before the guests departed 
for home, as a sort of ‘‘stirrup cup.” 

It was while partaking of this, that Anne, 
who sat near the hostess, heard many interest- 
ing things. She was telling one of the guests 
about her prairie life. She had come there a 
young woman, when there was no other ranch 
in sight, with her husband and two children. 
They homesteaded eight hundred acres, one part 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


61 


a timber claim, a parcel of land wbich must be 
planted in timber and made to grow to hold the 
claim. After making the dngout to live in, they 
planted a thousand cottonwood trees on about 
twenty acres of ground. When they had been 
there about four hard years her husband died 
from over-work. One little boy was twelve and 
the other ten years old. They had had a little 
money, but very little was left. With the true 
pioneer spirit, she lifted herself above her grief 
and loneliness, and took up the burden, with only 
the two boys to help. She plowed and sawed, 
and taught the boys to do their share, which 
they did sturdily. She hoed and watered the 
cotten-wood herself ; scarcely any of them died, 
and they now formed a beauty spot on the land- 
scape that was conspicuous for miles. 

^‘We could not understand about the soil; we 
could not raise the commonest garden vegetables 
here twenty-eight years ago, which was a great 
hardship; it was about three years before we 
could get a garden to grow. The ground 
needed turning up several times, probably, there 
was too much or too little of something in its 
composition, we did not know what, but it has 
adjusted itself in course of time, so now our 
crops are fine if I do say it. ’ ’ 

Anne^s eyes wandered out to the fine kitchen 
garden that was in full view. 

‘‘Your boys must have been heroes,^’ the lady 
said. 

“Indeed they were, they never had much play 


62 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


time after their father died; they seemed to 
become men before their time to be boys had 
fairly begun ; such good boys they were and are. ’ ’ 

‘‘It is wonderful, almost unbelievable, if one 
had not heard it told by the one who did the 
work. You are so very successful now, and all 
owing to your brave efforts ; you really deserve 
a medal more surely than those who do brave 
deeds on the spur of the moment.’’ 

“We still have some failures; our peach 
orchard as you can see from here, gave up try- 
ing to live.” 

From the doorway they could see rows of 
what had been fine five year old trees, perfectly 
dead. 

“They grew very well, but never had any 
peaches, finally this summer they did not put 
out any leaves, perhaps on account of the hard 
winter.” 

Veronica came running in, breathless, to get 
Anne. “George Hudson has his auto out here 
and you must come and get a ride.” 

It was a new automobile, with luxurious 
cushions, and when they rode out over the 
prairie where there was only a house road, at 
the hummocks it was like going through the air ; 
when they came down on the soft cushions, it 
was such delightful bouncing that they were 
always looking for more hummocks. The young 
man was generous and gave all the guests a 
ride ; automobiles had yet the tang of novelty on 
the prairie. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


63 


Anne rode home with aunt Elizabeth in the 
carriage. ‘^Now, honey, day after tomorrow 
we are going to begin harvesting at our ranch, 
and it may not be pleasant for you ; there will be 
so much to do, so much hard work for every 
one that you would have a lonesome time, so I 
thought you might go and stay the three weeks 
with aunt Clara where you would have a nicer 
time. ’ ^ 

‘ ‘ Auntie, may I stay at home if I want to ? I 
should so like to see harvesting, and then the 
girls will have so much to do and I can help; 
would I be in the way ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Bless your heart, of course you may stay, 
and so far from being in the way, you are a 
great help always. I thought of you, that the 
other way would be more pleasant, and you 
would be out of the turmoil.’’ 

“I like it to be lively sometimes, then I like 
the quiet more afterward.” 

The next day they began to bake, and for 
days it seemed that there would never be an end 
of it. 

The first force to come would not be the larg- 
est one. When the threshers came, the sky 
might be blue, and the grass green, or if they 
took a notion to change colors, it would be the 
same to the occupant^s of the ranch at “the 
comers,” they would never have time to notice. 

There is a vast amount of labor connected with 
the harvesting and threshing of three and four 
thousand bushels of wheat, and take care of the 


64 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


same amount of corn. Two or three ranchers 
sometimes go in together to hire the big ma- 
chines that are usually owned and operated by 
a company that travels from ranch to ranch mak- 
ing a charge for service according to the amount 
of grain harvested. The big machines are of 
a size to correspond with the great tracts in 
which they work, some of them like houses on 
wheels. The ‘‘header’’ one of the most in- 
genious of them all, will just snip off the mere 
heads of the stalks of wheat, or it will leave 
quite a stem attached acording to the taste of 
the farmer ; and after the capacious maw of the 
thresher has masticated the avalanche of wheat, 
relieving it of chatf and stems, there lies upon 
the ground near by a pile of straw that would 
completely obscure the biggest of the farm build- 
ings.^ The ranchers use it for fuel, fertilizer, 
bedding for the horses, and in dry season when 
grazing is thin the cattle will sometimes get 
hungry enough to eat it. 

Day after day the gang of men, expert and 
and awkward, labor to the limit of their strength 
harvesting, and if the weather is fine, as it usual- 
ly is on the prairie, this work counts much 
toward the wealth of the country; should the 
harvest weather happen to be damp, a farmer’s 
whole season’s work could be reduced to very 
little in the course of a few damp days. The 
crowd of men has to be fed and housed for 
each night and until the last bushel of grain has 
been cared for and hauled to market, every- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


65 


thing in the ordinary daily life is in abeyance. 

The women folks who play quite an important 
part in the harvest excitement, are relieved of 
a great burden when the last of the always 
hungry gang of harvesters departs, and they 
can drop again into the accustomed routine. 


Chapteb VII. 


All the children went to school when it opened 
in the second week in September; it was de- 
cided that Anne, also, should go. She had fin- 
ished the sixth grade. In the little district 
school, each child was almost a grade by itself, 
there were so few pupils. They did their chores 
cheerfully every morning before breakfast, put 
up a generous lunch and trudged over the roll- 
ing prairie to where the little building stood at 
a point on the highway, two miles away. 

There were fifteen pupils of all ages from the 
four quarters of the prairie. The teacher was 
using this obscure position as a stepping stone 
to something better, and realized that the some- 
thing better must be the result of her daily ef- 
forts with the fifteen who sat before her expect- 
ing to have knowledge poured into their brain 
receptacles, but seemingly resolved not to let 
any of it get out. It was easy enough for most 
of them to learn, but to tell what they had 
learned was to them an altogether different 
branch of education. 

The silence of the prairies was upon the chil- 
dren, though the teacher, who was from the city, 
did not understand. Until they got used to each 
other’s ways things did not go very well. 

When the card marks were so low that both 
aunt Elizabeth and uncle Matthew, (one of them 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


67 


was enough) scolded, the children felt that it 
was time to take another course in the school 
matter. 

Every night, ranged round the dining table, 
they studied their lessons for more than an hour. 

‘‘I think English is a crazy language, said 
Michael. 

‘‘Hear the Frenchman talk I cried Agnes. 

“Well now,’’ he persisted, “what does 
r-o-u-g-h spell?” 

They pronounced it “ruff.” 

“Now what does t-h-r-o-u-g-h spell?” 

Again they pronounced “throo.” 

“What does t-h-o-u-g-h spell?” 

It was given ‘ ‘ tho. ’ ’ 

Then what does t-r-o-u-g-h spell?” 

They gave it ‘ ‘ troff . ’ ’ 

“Tell me how to pronounce p-l-o-u-g-h?” 

Every one was thinking of words now. 

“Well, isn’t it crazy? wouldn’t you think an 
Eyetalian or some of those Bohemians around 
here would take fits trying to learn such a 
language as that?” 

“Michael knows so many languages,” said 
John who was out of the question altogether as 
he did not go to school. 

“I think it is funny myself,” said Anne. “We 
say, ’ a fire broke out, and the wagon broke down, 
and the party broke up, and the burglar broke 
in, and the ice broke through, and the pencil 
point broke off — 

“And a man is broke,” John could not keep 


68 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


out of it, and by this time they were all in 
great merriment over their own ‘'crazy'' 
language. 

“I like geography," said Michael, who seemed 
to have the rostrum this evening; “when you 
find the Alps mountains or a river or anything 
else and learn all about them, you know they are 
going to stay right there all the time." 

“And the big Mississippi River that you don’t 
always know where it is going to be." put in 
uncle Matthew very much out of order. “I 
do not hear any one saying that they like arith- 
metic." 

They had not gotten to arithmetic, yet, they 
always left that for the last, and no one wanted 
to talk about it. It is surprising how little en- 
thusiasm is aroused over arithmetic. 

“Let's say our grammar rhyme, for sl 
change," said Veronica when she could make 
herself heard, and to a rather pleasant monotone 
they recited all together a useful rhyme that 
the teacher had taught them. 

“Three little words we often see. 

Are articles — a, an, and the. 

A Noun's the name of anything. 

As school, or teacher, kite or string. 
Adjectives tell the kind of noun. 

As great or small, white or brown. 

Instead of nouns, the pronouns stand — 
Her head’ his hat, your arm, my hand. 
Verbs tell of something to be done — 

To read, spell, count, hop, skip or run. 


AN UNWIL^UNG TRAVELER 


69 


How things are done the adverbs tell, 

As slowly, qnickly, ill or well. 

Conjunctions join the words together — 

As bread and butter, wind or weather. 

The Preposition stands before 
A noun, as in, by, through a door. 

The Interjection shows surprise. 

As, ‘‘Oh! how pretty!’^ “Ah! how wise!’’ 

The whole are called nine parts of speech. 

Which reading, writing, speaking, teach.” 

They got so enthusiastic that Uncle Matthew 
had to remind them that there were other people 
in the house who might like to read. 

Gradually the teacher felt more secure over 
her stepping stone, and these shy children 
brought arms full of prairie flowers for the 
school room, and saved every pretty picture 
they found to pin upon the walls, and things 
began to look more promising in the educational 
way. 

The teacher could not very well scold them 
for being late in the morning as some of them 
walked three and four miles to school though 
she did not know this for a long time. Eain 
seldom kept the children away for it was not a 
very common occurrence, but when they began 
to feel the first blasts of winter, if it threatened 
snow, those who lived farthest away had to 
stay at home, for a blizzard was a very terrible 
thing even for the cattle, who were sometimes 
found standing up frozen stiff. Fortunately, a 
blizzard was not experienced every winter. 


70 


AN UNWII.UNG traveler 


In the evenings that were not school days, 
some one read aloud, not always stories ; or they 
played games romping outside if it were moon- 
light. 

The nice warm Sunday that the ball team had 
a game in uncle Matthew’s pasture, brought 
something rather unpleasant to Anne. 

Aunt Elizabeth received an important looking 
letter from the post-office after church, and read 
it as they were driving home. It did not please 
her, and she gazed at Anne in a far-away ab- 
sorbed way that usually means something vital. 

Nothing puts aunt Elizabeth out for long, and 
she soon resumed her cheerfulness. 

Every one for miles around came to see the 
game between town and country, and the ladies 
and children sat in the carriages, the horses of 
which were enjoying the comforts of the barn ; 
the young people sat on the grass, still green, 
and the game roused as much interest, and the 
lookers-on proved as good ‘‘fans” as could be 
found anywhere. 

The farmer and the sailor have their peculiar 
gait the first from treading plowed ground, the 
latter from the roll of the ship. The ranchmen 
ride over their plowed ground usually, but ac- 
quire a little stoop, and their running had the 
appearance of plunging. They had a fine pitcher, 
the grocer, in the town team and the ranchers 
had the best batter, so there were moments of 
excitement on the pasture, but not even a thumb 
was put out of joint. 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


71 


Aunt Elizabeth told what was on her mind, 
while they were all at supper that evening, the 
crowd having departed. 

‘ ‘ Amne, I have rather disturbing news ; those 
people have found you out and are insisting 
that you return to England to your ‘ dear grand- 
father,’ who is very indignant with us.” 

Anne immediately lost her color, and stopped 
eating. 

‘‘Now, little girl, you needn’t be afraid; those 
people don’t belong to us and they shall not 
have you,” uncle said. 

Aunt Elizabeth read from the letter : 

Dear Madame : 

After much difficulty we have located the 
grand-daughter of the Honorable George Ashley 
of Wroxall, Isle of Wight, whom you are de- 
taining against her will, and against the wishes 
of our client. We have established the fact be- 
yond a doubt that the child in your custody is 
the same child who took passage with her mother 
on the steamer that was lost, her mother, un- 
fortunately, going down. There are people here 
who were in the same boat with her and can 
give a description of her clothing and general 
appearance which corresponds with the infor- 
mation we have from other sources. The officers 
also remember her very well. It will save some 
trouble to yourselves, and to our client if you 
give her up without further contention, to the 
agent who will be sent to you later. 

Our client is willing to compensate you for 


72 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


your trouble and expense during tbe last three 
years. We remain, 

Your most obedient servants, 

Barkley and Hall. 

‘ ^ You won T let them take me will you, uncle ! ’ ’ 
her lips and chin were trembling. 

would like to see them try it, but it seems 
to be no use to hide you any longer ; they would 
ferret you out if you went to Land’s End; we 
will face it together. It is a queer mix-up. They 
have not explained themselves to my satisfac- 
tion. I never could see what ground they were 
working on. If you only look like some one else, 
that is no case. Aunt Elizabeth has kept good 
track of you all your life, and it is not likely 
she would make such a mistake.” 

“Really, Matthew, I should almost be glad to 
have them come, to find out what they mean. 
When the steamer that rescued Amne arrived in 
New York, she just remembered my brother’s 
address, and when they sent for him to come 
to the steamer he telegraphed me asking what 
he should do, as he was not married then; I 
thought of the convent school where your sister 
is and you remember he met me there with her. 
I wanted her to be near us. She was there 
three years, and it surprises me that they could 
trace her out here and not get track of her there. 
My brother gave no information to any one. If 
she had not gotten a little delicate she would 
still be in the school.” 

They questioned Anne to find out if she re^ 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


73 


membered meeting any particular people on her 
way to the ranch from the school, but she could 
throw no light on the matter. 

expect they would steal her anyway, so 
perhaps the best thing would be to let them do 
it. I am sure they would not harm her as they 
seem to be people of good standing, and she 
would have a chance for a verdict from an Eng- 
lish court which would be final for him,’^ said 
uncle Matthew. 

‘‘I would not like that,’^ said aunt Elizabeth. 
^‘But we know that she isn’t his grand-daughter 
and he will try to take her I am sure. He must 
be a hard-headed man and it will take a hard 
drive to bring it home to him.” 

‘‘And I think she will put up a small fight of 
her own. Poor little girl ! as if she had not had 
trouble enough.” 

Aunt Elizabeth sent on to the English lawyers 
a copy of Anne’s birth certificate, which was the 
only notice they took of the letter, and imme- 
diately they began to establish Anne’s defenses. 

They bought some tiny stationery, put blank 
sheets in two envelopes, placed an English stamp 
on one, and an United States stamp on the 
other ; wrapped them, with the tiniest pencil, in 
oiled silk, carefully stitched and hung them 
around her neck. They gave her thoughtful ad- 
vice as to how to conduct herself if she should 
be taken away suddenly. 

This shadow lay over them for many days, 
but it grew fainter as shadows will when nothing 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


U 

happens, and the thought came to aunt Eliza- 
beth to have Anne write out as near as she could 
remember, all the circumstances of the ship- 
wreck, in which her dear mother had lost her 
life. Anne spent part of the evenings writing 
in the midst of the family, and reading as she 
wrote, with questions and reminders from the 
others to help her out and get all the facts. 

Every care had always been taken to keep 
her mind off the disaster and the family had 
much feeling for her in her sad task. When it 
was finished, it took many days, aunt Elizabeth 
put it in an old leather pocket-book and placed 
it in a tin box, in case of fire, and it was stowed 
carefully away. 

Then it was agreed to put the matter away, 
also for Anne’s sake, and not bother trouble 
till it came. Anne was learning to sew, bake and 
cook, having an idea of shining in household 
accomplishments as aunt Elizabeth’s girls did, 
who were famous for getting up a dinner on 
short notice. Sometimes, when aunt Elizabeth 
was away on business, far off neighbors would 
come unexpectedly to stay all day and the girls 
got up meals from whatever they happened to 
have in the house that brought many compli- 
ments for their house-keeping. So Anne, always 
stimulated by a good example, wanted to be a 
good cook, and proved very apt. It is true there 
was not always a great variety of things in the 
house to cook, but they could make wonderful 
soups out of corn, cabbage, potato and onion^ 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


75 


with a little parsley and thyme and a little flour. 
What they could do with eggs was a wonder; 
the most appetizing dishes that tasted like 
everything but eggs. Such bread as they could 
make ! It seemed determined to come up 
through the top of the oven. 

On Thanksgiving morning every one that 
could, went to church. Though they did not 
make any special preparation for a feast, aunt 
Elizabeth, as was customary with her on that 
day, brought home one guest who might other- 
wise have a lonely day, and this time it was an 
old man whose wife had died a few months be- 
fore, who borrowed a little more life himself 
from that merry company. 

After the work was done the young people 
played ^^hide and seek’’ putting limits as to how 
far anyone could go from the house. They got 
tired of being found in the storm cellar with the 
seed corn and coal and potatoes, as that was the 
very place every one went to first; but no one 
thought of looking for Michael behind the chim- 
ney on the kitchen roof, or of looking in the 
manger where the horses were eating, from 
whence Charles crawled. John disappeared for 
quite a while, to be found up on the top round 
of the wind-mill ladder, so it might be supposed 
that the girls had to be ‘4t” most of the time, 
not having such a variety of places in which it 
was possible to hide. 

It was Charles’ work to pick up the corn cobs 
in the corral for the morrow’s fuel so as it was 


76 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Thanksgiving day they all turned in and helped 
to fill his cart ; then the milking had to be done, 
and the feeding, that was the boys’ work too, 
and the girls helped them until everything was 
done. The evening they spent popping corn and 
playing table games; uncle Matthew extended 
the hospitality of a bed in the kitchen, to the 
old man. 

There was a big snow early in December, with 
bitter cold weather so that the corn cob fire 
proved a great burden, and John had to bring 
coal, usually kept for state occasions, out of the 
storm cellar, and it was wonderful how the 
bright fire thawed every one’s wits. After les- 
sons were done they toasted themselves around 
the fire and coaxed Anne to tell about her school 
experiences and travels; none of the children 
had been out of the home county where they 
were born, and it was a great treat to hear 
about the outside world ; each wondering if they 
would ever have a chance to travel. 

The school teacher had taken up the study 
of birds and they all had tried to find out what 
they could about the only two birds that they 
knew, the meadow lark, who made almost boist- 
erous melody on the prairie, and the snow bird, 
who only came in winter when there was snow. 
While the snow was on the ground after the 
big storm, they were on the watch, but did not 
see any until the snow was almost gone in 
places. 

One Sunday as they were coming home from 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


77 


church, J ohn stopped the horses and called soft- 
ly to the carriage load behind, ‘‘Anne, look 
sharp to the left, and see the snow bird.’^ 

There he was, a royal little fellow, with a 
dark body above, black and white wings, and all 
white underneath. They watched him hop round 
what had been a big snow-drift at the side of 
the road near the fence, but was now crusted 
over by many thaws. 

“What is he doing! asked Anne. 

“He lives there, John answered, “he will 
stay under that snow-drift until it has nearly 
all melted then he will go away.’^ 

John started the horses a little to see if he 
would dart into the hole in the drift where he 
had chosen his winter quarters, and he disap- 
peared at the first alarm though he had not 
seemed to mind them watching him. 

“Maybe he thinks that is a haystack,” said 
Veronica. 

“Why, a haystack would be a warm house,” 
said Charles, “they never go in our haystacks, 
we always see them in the snow.” 

“He is so pretty I wish he had staid out,” 
said Anne. 

“This is near home, maybe we can come and 
see him,” Veronica said. “The book says he 
has a pleasant note, but he never sings here, 
and I never see him fly unless he goes at night, ’ ^ 
John added, whose powers of observation were 
highly developed. “If we only had some trees 
we would have more birds.” 


78 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


‘^This would be a grand place for ostriches, 
wouldn’t itU* said Michael, think of chasing 
an ostrich that had a stride of twelve feet, and 
could go twenty miles an hour. Suppose Charles 
had to bring them to corral.” 

‘‘And if we should find a nest six feet in 
diameter out on the prairie some day, only it 
isn’t sand,” said Agnes. 

“And if it had sixty eggs in it, weighing two 
and three pounds apiece ; one would make a 
meal for all of us,” said Anne. 

“They say they are not nice to eat; isn’t 
it strange that they never think of making a 
nest until they have been laying eggs for some 
time?” said John. 

“It must look comical to see the papa ostrich 
roll all the loose eggs he finds to one place, 
then sit on them until they hatch,” said Anne. 

In this pleasant way the children reviewed a 
lot of scientific research and did some mental 
traveling getting as much joy out of it as most 
travelers do with far less fatigue and trouble. 


Chaptee VIII. 


Enssia sent car loads of grain to the farmers 
in the west, who had their own bit of hard time 
during a number of dry years. 

Something else came with it that could well 
have been spared, and it liked the country so 
well that now there is no getting rid of it. The 
Eussian thistle is not like our home product of 
live memory, nor yet like the scotch thistle, hav- 
ing characteristics of its own, and is really not 
a thistle at all as we know it, growing close to 
the ground on a short stem, often with a diame- 
ter of three feet, with its many fine, long 
branches turned up close all around the stem; 
it is like a gigantic cabbage in outline, but not 
in composition. If a cabbage could have a very 
thorny skeleton, it would doubtless look some- 
what like a Eussian thistle. When loosed from 
their moorings, which is easily done by the wind, 
they go racing and chasing through the air like 
flying demons, and when the wind is high there 
are so many in transit that when they meet the 
angle of a barbed wire fence they pile together 
in such numbers as to break the wire; every 
nook that has an obstruction becomes choked 
high with them. 

It was a very cold, dry Christmas; they all 
rose before daylight, and a little after eight 
started for church in two wagon loads. 

From all directions came worshippers on their 


80 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


way to celebrate the birthday of the Saviour; 
all had joyous greetings to exchange. The little 
church was full, every one glad to reach it out 
of the piercing wind. Nearly all received Holy 
Communion, so the pastor had a very busy time 
before the service began. The music was not 
at all bad, and while they were preparing for 
Benediction, the Russians sang German hymns, 
and the whole congregation sang some English 
hymns before they left the church. 

The good pastor was well remembered; he 
lived in a couple of cold rooms attached to the 
church with not much comfort of any kind. One 
of the villagers had asked him to dinner several 
days before Christmas so it was impossible for 
him to accept the hundred or so of invitations 
that he received that morning. Out in front of 
the church there were hearty good wishes ex- 
changed in a happy wholesome spirit that went 
to the heart. The wagons, carriages and autos 
were filled again, and with much laughing and 
joking, ‘‘Merry Christmas,’’ from all to all; 
then once again the many roads away from the 
church had trails of human beings and vehicles, 
all scurrying to get home for Christmas cheer 
and beat the dust storm that could be seen form- 
ing far away. 

^ It seemed as though nearly half the congrega- 
tion came to dinner; many of them were rela- 
tives; aunt Elizabeth was not worrying about 
the dinner, for the turkeys and ducks were in 
the warm oven well roasted by this time, and 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


81 


the big pudding in a buttered and floured bag, 
that had to boil four hours, must be nearly done. 
Many hands would help to prepare the other 
things and put the dinner on. 

The gay party going home was soon occupied 
with other matters ; there is no such thing as out- 
running a dust storm, and it was soon upon them, 
before they were half way home. Fortunately, 
it was behind ; facing it would have been much 
worse ; as it was, mouth, eyes, and nostrils had 
to be covered by everyone. The poor horses 
must have buffered from the stinging dust and 
flying debris. 

Anne got her eyes full of dust trying to see 
everything, and her mouth full laughing hearti- 
ly over the big thistles as they flew across the 
road ahead of them, tumbling over and over 
each other in their mad flight to reach a barbed 
wire fence so that they could break it down. 
She saw huge piles of them all the way. They 
met a dignified man who made a graceful figure 
on horseback, riding along his line fence to find 
the places where the weeds were piled to en- 
danger the fence. Michael, who was driving, 
told Anne that it was Major Raymond, the rich- 
est man about there ; the man who had the finest 
wheat. He received the choked but hearty 
greetings from each of the string of vehicles, 
and it seemed to bring a light heart to him as 
it did to every one. 

Even the dogs seemed to know that it was a 
day of particular rejoicing; they nearly tied 


82 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


themselves into knots when the big party came 
through the gate. 

They had coal fires today, soft coal, which had 
been banked with ashes before they left for 
church, and with a little stirring it was soon 
roaring as though anxious to add its part to 
the good cheer. 

Every one was stiff with cold, hut no one 
mentioned it. The house was warm, and when 
aunt Elizabeth looked into the big oven, what 
she had in there was piping hot, and what was 
on top of the stove too, and the kitchen smelled 
like Christmas. 

Still carriages came driving into the yard; 
the grocer and his wife ; the doctor and his wife ; 
pretty ‘ ^ central’ ’ to whom they all owed so many 
courtesies, and who was a very charming girl; 
some young ranchers who lived alone and who 
would have had a wretched Christmas if someone 
had not thought of them; twenty-two guests 
in all and only fifteen could sit at the table at 
once. All the children waited of course, but 
aunt Elizabeth gave each a glass of milk and a 
dough-nut to ease the gnawing, but not sufficient 
to spoil their dinner. The grown-ups who had 
to wait fared the same, and afterward laid out 
the Christmas presents for the family, in the 
front room. 

Such a dinner! It was worth short commons 
during a whole year just to smell it; the one 
grand dinner of the year. And there was an- 
other turkey with seasoned stuffing, in the oven. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


83 


done to jnst such a glorious brown, and well 
basted while cooking, with giblet gravy; there 
was another duck, delicious with dressing that 
had a touch of garlic in it; there were mashed 
turnips, seasoned to a nicety; mashed potatoes 
like snow but steaming hot; stewed corn, cran- 
berry sauce with the berries whole, olives, home 
made pickles, celery, then, if one had accomoda- 
tions after all this there was a wonderful white, 
suet pudding, made from an old Maryland re- 
cipe, and looking fairly dangerous with plums, 
(not currants,) and raisin bread; cymbals, a 
flat cooky with lots of butter in its composition ; 
real doughnuts that were not mere fried cakes ; 
nuts, apples, oranges and Malaga grapes; and 
lastly candy and coffee, and aunt Elizabeth 
brought on a big frosted fruit cake, but they all 
begged her to keep it for supper. 

It was a happy board full and quiet too, for 
they all had hearts for the hungry ones who 
were waiting and while the others were partak- 
ing of the good things on the table the first 
ones wandered about the yard, visited the barns, 
the chicken yard, the pigs and everything else 
that presented any interest. 

Then every one turned to and Helped to get 
the awful upset in the kitchen into some order, 
and a lot of things out of sight. The place soon 
looked as well as ever and there was no need 
to worry about supper. It was quite astonish- 
ing in how short a time they were all sitting in 
the front room admiring the presents. Every 


84 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


year there went out an edict that forbade the 
bringing of presents, but no one minded it at 
all ; this sort of giving seemed to them a pleasure 
and every one who entertained at Christmas 
fared the same. There was a nice soft quilt, a 
rug, dishes, a little silver, caps, mufflers, mittens 
and clothing, and many nice useful things from 
people who knew that there was no room in 
tiny houses like this for gew-gaws. Veronica, 
Agnes and Anne who played the piano, each 
received some sheet music. 

Anne to her great delight and surprise got 
games, hooks and other presents, and all the 
children had candy and nuts, a great treat. 
There were quiet thanks exchanged, and the 
Christmas card accompanying each gift was 
read aloud with dignity and appreciation. The 
men played pinochle ; the children tried the new 
music and danced some, and the ladies tried 
the new games, or talked over things that in- 
terest ladies — embroidery, the children, the 
fashions, church needs, etc. WTien the lamps 
were lighted they had to have the table for 
supper, then the men were driven to talk, and 
it was first baseball, then politics; and they 
laughed and joked over the one among them who, 
tired of existing business methods of marketing 
hogs, had thought to establish a precedent for 
the hog raisers of that section by taking a car- 
load of hogs to the big pork mart to sell. 

He found that he could not sell one of them 
to the packers without the approving mark of 


AN UNWII.LING TRAVELER 


85 


the individual known in commercial history as 
‘ ‘ the middleman ’ ^ the farmers ’ bete noire. The 
lordly packers would not so much as look at 
them ; his fine hogs, raised in a section that had 
never known the prevailing diseases. After days 
of hard work and some feeling he found two 
private concerns that took them at a sacrifice 
for the farmer, who had had to feed and water 
them all that time in the heat and dust of that 
railroad yard. 

‘‘The packers must have reasoned, ‘Why 
should we buy this man’s pork and throw a val- 
uable man out of a job?’ ” the doctor ventured 
to say. 

‘ ‘ Tom, that is the reason why we did not have 
any pork on the table, we were afraid it would 
hurt your feelings, ’ ’ remarked uncle Matthew. 

“Well, the middleman has to do some travel- 
ling to find a place to eat when he comes out; 
no one asks him any more if he has a mouth 
on him,” Tom said, in a covert commendation 
of the loyalty of his neighbor ranchers. 

“The packers will trust the judgment of the 
middleman, but not the farmer’s whose one 
idea is to make for his section his share of its 
fame for first-class products,” said the grocer, 
a college graduate, but well posted upon this 
subject. 

They made room for every one at the Christ- 
mas supper table by bringing in a few little 
tables for the children, and all crowding a little. 
The table was again burdened, and they told 


86 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


stories and conundrums and the children popped 
corn, and there was no hurry to be through. 

Uncle Matthew started to tell a story about 
what happened to him one night when he was 
driving home alone from town, when aunt Eliza- 
beth said quickly, ‘‘I would not tell that if I 
were you.” 

‘‘I don’t see why not,” said he, looking sly. 

‘^I’ll tell you afterward,” answered his wife 
giving him a look. So once more a prairie man 
was henpecked ; the story was not told, but right 
away that was the story that every one wanted 
to hear, and such a clamor ensued! But coax- 
ing had no effect upon uncle Matthew; he had 
changed his mind, and knew all the time perfect- 
ly well why that story should not be told just 
then. 

It was nearly midnight when the happy guests 
tore themselves away. Some of them lived four- 
teen miles away and these they kept, and it is 
no one’s affair where they stowed them; a 
prairie cabin is like a city street car, always 
room inside. 

Invitations were exchanged, and real thanks 
graciously given for the happy day, and there 
was generous good will, though just now ex- 
uberance was coming out a little weary with so 
much exercise. Some of the young men had four 
miles to tramp to their lonely cabins, though 
uncle Matthew offered them the hospitality of 
quilts and clean hay in the barn lofts for the 
night, but their heads and consciences were clear 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


87 


after their good time, and they preferred to 
trudge home, so as to be ready for the early 
morning’s duties; beside, the wind had gone 
down and it would not be so bad walking. 

The horses were impatient at the gate, though 
they had had plenty of good cheer too; the 
children had given each as a Christmas gift, a 
lump of sugar and an apple, but home is home 
even to a horse, and they cut such a pace going 
home that some had doubted whether the wind 
really had gone down. 

That was a rich festal time ; God help those 
elsewhere who, wanting good will in their hearts, 
received none of the promised peace! 


Chapter IX. 


It was a sad thing; Charles had a bad fault 
that had grown to such proportions that some 
punishment was necessary, since moral suasion, 
tried many times, did not check it. All the other 
children were more than ordinarily truthful, 
and the lapse of the youngest of the brethren 
was quite a scandal among them. Telling stories 
from pure mischief became a habit, until now 
all that proceeded from him was taken with 
a grain of salt or tabled altogether. 

When he was out with the cows one morning 
in a new pasture, where he had to stay with 
them, the family put heads together and studied 
out a plan to bring home to this erring member 
of the family the breadth and depth of his de- 
parture from the straight way. 

It was decided that his feelings were not to 
be spared, as it was to be for his good; but 
the punishment was to be as detached and im- 
personal as it was possible for punishment to 
be made. 

When he turned up his plate at the first meal 
after the general council, he found a piece of 
paper pushed part way under it as if by acci- 
dent, and on it was printed in good sized read- 
able characters, ‘ ‘ Oh fie, on the thing that needs 
a lie!^^ 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


89 


He had read it with his head pertly cocked 
to one side. Then his head straightened np and 
he crumpled the bit of paper in his hand, and 
looked around the table to fix the one guilty 
of putting it there, as he recognized the appli- 
cation immediately. 

No one was paying the least attention to him; 
there was an unimportant discussion going on 
quietly, and he thought that it must have 
dropped out of a book or something. He was 
a little uneasy nevertheless; the very fact that 
he did not know whether it was intentional 
made it disturbing. 

After this if he picked up a book on the table 
it was sure to be marked at a place that drove a 
sharp arrow at untruthfulness. When this war- 
fare of mental sniping had been carried on for 
three or four days in various ways, he could no 
longer deceive himself into thinking that it was 
accidental. 

All were the same as ever in their treat-* 
ment of him, even a little nicer than usual, 
so he could not complain of being ill-treated; 
but the other phase grew worse and worse, for 
beside all the other things, if he made the simpl- 
est statement right away some one would ask 
some one else who knew about the matter, if 
it was so. ^ 

Even a little fellow can think, and this one 
began to do quite a bit of thinking. 

He had not told a very serious story in as 
much as two days, now, and the siege had lasted 


90 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


a week, and no one had made the slightest ref- 
erence to his failing or the punishment. He was 
beginning to feel very queer, and did not know 
what was the matter with him. Even an older 
person might not have borne it better. 

‘^Charles, did you feed that slop to the pigs, 
that was outside the kitchen T’ asked uncle 
Matthew one evening. 

‘‘Yes, sir,’’ answered Charles. 

‘ ‘ Michael, go out and see if the slop is there, ’ ’ 
said his father, relentlessly. 

This was a deal too much for Charles to bear 
after such a queer and accusing week. 

The girls, who saw the storm coming, spied 
some interesting object out in the yard just 
then, and John joined them; uncle Matthew, 
who did not care to see the breakdown he had 
helped to bring about, also went out, so there 
was no one but aunt Elizabeth and Charles, who, 
after the strangest performance with his lower 
lip and the muscles of his face, made a plunge 
at aunt Elizabeth who was sitting in the old 
fashioned rocker, and buried the facial chaos 
on her shoulder. Aunt Elizabeth had not been 
expecting anything of the kind, of course, so 
she laid down the paper she was reading, put 
her arm around him, in surges and billows of 
trouble now, and said: 

“What is the matter with my son?” in a very 
sympathetic way, yet not making too much of 
the matter. 

“Mother, I am never going to tell any more 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 91 

stories/^ the words mingled with gulps and 
sobs. 

“Well, son, have you begun to realize that 
it is wrong! you never seemed to before. I 
would like to have my Charles have the highest 
motive for giving up his faults, and not because 
they are annoying to others. Will you remem- 
ber that!’’ 

“Yes, ma’am; I see things now.” 

That week of isolation, of sulfering of a pecu- 
liar kind, had done more than sermons, as is 
the way with hard-headed people. His nerves 
would not stand any more of that way of re- 
minding him that he was imperfect, socially as 
well as morally, though Charles was too young 
to get at the result by way of analysis. Out in 
the pasture among the cows he turned the thing 
over in his mind. 

He had broken all previous promises not to 
tell untruths; not purposely, but it seemed to 
be a quality of his tongue to keep slipping things 
not true, and the only thing that occurred to 
him as a remedy, was, to stop talking. 

Whee I but that would be hard. Charles loved 
to talk and it was this propensity that 
mayhap, invited the evil that finally gave him 
such an unhappy week. 

His promise this time was wrung out of an 
anguished mind that sensed the fact that things 
were not the same in his narrow world any 
more; he was marked, thrust out of the family 
intimacy, in a manner, and he felt that he just 


92 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


could not spare anything ont of his little life. 
If no one loved him any more he felt as though 
he couldn’t live. 

If Charles had not been affectionate, if he 
had not been a member of a family that valued 
heart training equally with that of the mind, 
it might be doubted whether all the pains taken 
to bring him to a sense of his lapses might not 
have been lost. 

Not to have his mother love him! To have 
pop look down on him! Maybe the girls did 
not like him any more, and maybe they would 
not save the tid-bits for him when they were 
making something nice. Why, it was heart- 
breaking ! 

He could not cry about it out in the pasture ; 
it required much vigilance to keep his^ cows 
from getting into the neighbors’ wheat; his face 
grew a little pinched and drawn, not from the 
cold altogether and he kept his eyes fixed upon 
the house, as though expecting it to vanish be- 
fore he could make things right, even if iti 
meant keeping silence forever after. All these 
things flashed through his mind like pictures 
on a screen ; happenings, not arguments. 

When aunt Elizabeth had found out that he 
had made up his mind not to talk, she would not 
let the others tease him, or pay any special at- 
tention to this development of the case, but saw 
that he played the games with the others, or 
played with him herself. She was careful that 
he had his share of the happy home times. When 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


93 


one week, two, three, passed without lapses from 
grace that were worth noticing, they were all 
pleased that his elforts to conquer himself were 
effectual, even though he had to be fairly made 
over. 

‘‘It isn’t my baby any more,” said aunt Eliza- 
beth to Agnes. It does not seem as though it 
was the same little boy, but all kinds of pruning 
make great changes. He will never forget that 
lesson. We must all help him.” 

The conquering was not all done at once. 
On days that they let the cows into their own 
wheat to nibble the too rapidly growing shoots, 
which strangely did not harm the wheat, Charles 
found life a little more difficult, as he did not 
have to stay with the cattle, and found himself 
longing for something to do as it was winter 
now and not much for a boy to do on the ranch 
but wait for spring plowing. Soon he would 
be big enough to drive the plow. 

Aunt Elizabeth being his mother and a sensi- 
ble one, not much given to the popular fault 
of making idols of her children, knew every 
situation before it appeared, and Charles had 
to gather up the bits of scattered fuel all over 
the place, and pile it neatly outside the kitchen 
and put boards on top of it so that it would 
not blow away. Every time work became slack, 
some surprising task appeared. 

Those lovely winter days! The sun warm 
enough so that wraps could be discarded in go- 
ing about. In the evenings the sunsets would 


94 : 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Rave delighted the heart of an artist with their 
iridescence. The homely things in the back- 
ground, the low buildings, the turkeys roosting 
on the top of the kitchen, the cattle drinking 
out of the big trough, all this has for ages in- 
vited the artistes b^rush; peace was inscribed 
everywhere here, for there was contentment, and 
without this there is no peace. 

On one of these crisp, beautiful evenings Amne 
and Veronica not having lessons to do, planned 
to take a trip to the fast vanishing snow drift 
under which the snow-bird had his home, to see 
if he were still there. The weather had l)een so 
fine that a few more thaws must drive him to 
other quarters soon. 

They took no one into their confidence, know- 
ing the recklessness of boys, only asking aunt 
Elizabeth if they could “walk up the road a 
piece.’’ 

Part of the way they danced all sorts of fig- 
ures; then they hippity-hopped and played tag 
until they could see the snowdrift, then there 
was need to be very quiet, and they came up to 
the drift like indians, to surprise the poor little 
snow-bird in his cold den. 

Perhaps there were two of them there. 

And it was this that they wanted to make 
sure about. 

Coming along they had to pass the drift to 
see the bird entrance. 

What confidence he had not to make a hack 
way so that flight would be easy if intruded 
upon ! 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


95 


There was the only entrance, big around as 
an arm, as Veronica found by gently introduc- 
ing hers into the opening. There were much 
ruffled bird feathers under her hand, and yes, 
she believed she felt two heads. 

‘‘Quick, Anne! Put your hand in, we must 
not scare them too much, poor little things; 
they were asleep. 

And before the birds could get out, as Ver- 
onica withdrew her hand, Anne inserted her 
arm and felt of the frightened occupants. After 
stroking them a little they withdrew to some 
distance to see if the birds would come out. It 
was just coming on twilight when they started 
out; now they could see a star or two; it was 
long past roosting time for feathered tribes. 
They were glad the birds did not come out, for 
they would have been sorry to have driven them 
away, anxious as they were to see them. 

“bh!’’ exclaimed Anne with an excited 
breath, “we forgot to leave their crumbs, so 
they tiptoed back and scattered crumbs all 
around the entrance. 

When they turned to start for home, it was 
quite dark, so quickly does the darlmess follow 
after the twilight on the prairie. 

“Some one is ahead of us with a lantern,^’ 
said Anne. 

“I did not hear anyone pass, did you?’’ “Oh, 
my! no!” exclaimed Veronica, who appeared 
to be excited. 

“Maybe it is some one we know, let us hurry 


96 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


and catch np, ’ ^ said Anne. 

‘‘Oh! it isn’t any one we know, let ns wait 
awhile,” said Veronica. 

“Isn’t he acting funny?” said Anne. 

The lantern rose and fell in the air, and from 
dimness grew to the size of an automobile lamp. 

Anne whose curiosity was now fulty aroused, 
again proposed running to catch up with it ; on 
turning with the suggestion on her lips, she saw 
Veronica standing close to the fence preparing 
to crawl under it to the detriment of her gar- 
ments, which could scarcely escape the barbed 
wire. 

“Come, Anne, let us cut across Mr. Lind’s 
field and run home as fast as we can.” 

“Why Veronica, you act as though you were 
afraid ; I would rather walk behind the lantern, ’ ’ 
and she took Veronica by the hand and dragged 
her along the road after the light. 

It did act queerly. When they came up to it 
Veronica was trembling, hut putting forth a 
brave effort not to become panic stricken, as 
she was older than Anne. As they came quite 
close to it, Anne expected a cheery greeting from 
the person with the lantern. None came and to 
her astonishment, there seemed to he no man 
with this lantern; it was not a lantern either, 
she had time to notice before fright seized her, 
too. She had been going to touch it when all 
of a sudden it disappeared, lea\dng them in 
black darkness as it seemed, by contrast. 

Veronica seized her hand and with “Quick, 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


97 


let us run/^ dragged her away from the place. 

‘‘What was itU’ asked Anne with the little 
breath left. 

“I don’t know, let’s hurry.” 

Then Anne was frightened. It seemed pitch 
dark, and they could scarcely see the fences, 
the light had blinded them so, and they tumbled 
onto ruts once or twice and skinned their knees ; 
yet they found courage to look behind once or 
twice to see if “it” had appeared again. 

Anne, being the more imaginative, was the 
more frightened of the two. Stumbling into the 
yard, so relieved to see the home lights, they 
were breathless and excited. 

“We will not go in until we are rested a little, 
and we will not say anything to any one but 
mamma. She wouldn ’t want the boys frightened 
because they have to be out so much in the 
dark,” said Veronica wisely. 

“But what is it, did you ever see it before?” 
asked Anne in a whisper. 

“No but others have. Sometimes they see it 
in places twenty miles from here.” 

“And you were not afraid to go out?” 

“Well, it has been a good while since it was 
seen round here. One night John saw it roll 
down that hill in our pasture,” pointing to a 
place about a quarter of a mile away, ‘ ‘ and dis- 
appear behind a straw stack, and when he went 
over nothing was there. Let’s go in.” 

Having guessed their errand, every one was 
anxious to know about the birds, but they had 


98 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


forgotten all about them, and glanced quickly 
at each other in wonder, neither of them being 
able to put their thoughts into words as yet. 

‘ ‘ They didn T go to see the birds, they look as 
though they had been in some mischief,’’ said 
Michael. 

Then Veronica, who had no breath to spare, 
gave an account of the birds, and how they for- 
got to leave the crumbs and went back, getting 
caught by the darkness. 

There were some who were sure that was not 
all. 

After the boys had retired, Veronica said, 

Mamma, Anne and I saw that light ahead of 
us just when we turned to come home after 
leaving the crumbs. I did not want Anne to be 
scared and I did not know what to do.” 

‘ ‘ That was why you wanted to go through the 
field, when I wanted to follow it,” said Anne. 

Were you afraid?” asked Agnes of Veronica. 

‘‘Why yes, but I did not think of myself then, 
not till we got up to the light. ’ ’ 

Anne was pale and had an unusual expression 
on her face. She had faced some great calami- 
ties in her short life, but never anything that 
you could not get hold of, like this. It made 
you feel as though you were nothing. 

There was no use trying to explain it away 
to these clear eyed children, and the father and 
mother did not try. Aunt Elizabeth said simply, 
“We do not know what it is. It has never hurt 
any one. Sometimes it is not seen for two years. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


99 


Doubtless there is an explainable cause for it, 
and it will come out some day. Put it out of 
your minds so that you will not be afraid every 
time you step out of doors.’’ 

Anne’s mind had been working rapidly upon 
some matter she had stored there, while the 
others were talking. Three or four times since 
she had come to the ranch, different ones had 
tried to tell a story about some remarkable ex- 
perience, which story had been promptly stopped 
by some one else, usually one of the women, and 
she had wondered about it, as it did not look at 
all polite to do anything like that, and it was 
not in keeping with what she had learned to ex- 
pect from these gentle relations of hers in the 
way of courtesy to each other. 

‘‘Aunt Elizabeth, wasn’t that the story that 
never got told?” she asked after these moments 
of careful reflection. 

“Well, yes, dear, I suppose it was; it was not 
a good idea to have your nerves all keyed up 
by such a tale. I am very sorry you saw it, but 
it is over now, and you stood it very well. ’ ’ 

“But, I did not, auntie; at first I did not 
suspect anything. I thought it was a man with 
a lantern then when I saw it was a lantern 
going along without any man I felt as though I 
were losing my mind. My ! I will be glad when 
it is morning. ” ^ 

“Now do not think any more about it,” said 
her aunt “you will not see it again, I am suye; 
very few have seen it and none have seen it 
twice.” 


100 


AN UNWILIvING TRAVELER 


‘^You saw it didn’t yon, nncle Matthew?” she 
asked. 

< < yvhy yes, but we are going to forget all about 
it.” 

‘‘And they saw it near aunt Clara’s while I 
was there. She scolded uncle Harry for starting 
to tell me something and would not let him finish. 
I know it was about that. ’ ’ 

“I wonder if it is the same light,” said Agnes. 

“We ought to say our prayers extra well 
tonight so we will not lie awake, I should be 
scared I know.” said Anne. 

“Everything that happens, God knows and 
permits ; we must put ourselves entirely into His 
hands ; put away past evils and trust in him for 
the future.” said aunt Elizabeth. 

“Yes auntie and if I wake up frightened, I am 
going to try and think about that; we do not 
want to remember it do we?” 

From that evening the happening was put 
away as a forbidden topic, interesting, do doubt, 
but very unsettling, from which no benefit what- 
ever could be derived for this little community 
living in such peace and quiet under sun, moon 
and stars. 


Chaptek XI. 


John had Redwing quartered in the old dugout 
in which his parents had started on their pioneer 
experience. Uncle Matthew, who believed in 
making the farm life worth while to the young 
people, had given him this high strung colt, and 
a Galloway cow with a most beautiful, glossy 
black coat, but she would not be milked by any 
one and behaved so badly that uncle Matthew 
decided that she would be more useful and less 
expensive in quarters of beef, and her hide would 
find a ready sale, so John left her to her fate 
and centered his attentions upon the colt. 

Some of the other horses nipped at him, and 
as that might make him mean or flighty, he was 
put by himself for a while. Anne had promised 
to feed him in his quarters; she soon learned 
what he liked and won his confidence. He was 
not bold like Daisy, but retiring in his disposi- 
tion and even in his days of perfect freedom 
never came very close to the house. Probably 
Daisy had something to do with it ; she was very 
domineering, and wanted the whole place to 
herself . Redwing did not like his imprisonment 
very well but he still bore a heel mark from some 
vicious equine and it was best to keep him by 
himself for awhile. She was careful not to 
frighten him when she came with the feed and 
after awhile he stopped rolling his eyes, a dis- 


102 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


turbing sign in a horse. From watching nncle 
Matthew and John handle the horses she had 
learned a good deal about them, and their likes 
and dislikes, which are as important to them as 
they are to human beings. She always let him 
know she was coming by singing or talking as 
she came down the path, and he answered by 
a whinny of pleasure. For a while she fed him 
without touching him. After a while she ven- 
tured to give him a few little pats on his sleek 
chestnut sides, encroaching more day by day 
upon his confidence until he permitted her to 
curry him which seemed to please him greatly. 
Anne declared that he turned round every time 
she came to see if she had brought the curry 
comb. He was like a lamb in her hands, and she 
had a few plans in her mind. She threw her 
arms about his neck while he was eating some- 
times, and leaned over his back to get him used 
to her. Then one day she took an old kettle 
that was there which she used for a step, 
mounted his back and sat there for awhile; he 
did not seem to mind ; he was probably so lone- 
some all day that anything she did that would 
keep her there would be tolerated. She was de- 
lighted when he took her training so well, and 
she sat on his back every day while he ate ; he 
even waited for her to get up before he began 
his refreshment. 

She would not go further in her plan without 
permission, and she expected to get it from John, 
with perhaps a later qualification from higher 
authority. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


103 


She inveigled John out to the dugont on some 
pretense when she took Redwing ^s feed, and 
while the colt was eating she got np on his back 
to John’s astonishment. 

‘‘Amne, you mustn’t do that, he might throw 
you and kick you into flinders,” he exclaimed, 
quite excited. 

‘‘No he will not, he likes it,” but she dis- 
mounted having demonstrated that it could be 
done, and Redwing turned round to find out why 
it was not today as it had been every other day. 

“ You see, ” she said, ‘ ‘ he wants me up there. ’ ’ 

“Get up and we’ll see what he does.” 

When she had seated herself on his back again 
he went on eating, stopping and turning to John 
once in a while as though expecting some com- 
mendation for his docility. 

“Oh, John, lead him round the yard a little, 
will you 1 ’ ’ 

“Well just this once,” hut John was really 
pleased with the progress that his pet had made 
though he considered him too young to be 
mounted; he took them out leading Redwing by 
the halter and ready to seize Anne with the other 
arm if he showed an inclination to bolt. 

Anne enjoyed it, and Redwing seemed to, the 
curtailment of his freedom gave a zest to the 
smaller liberties, and helped him to take his les- 
sons in docility, a quality that he had not appre- 
ciated very much while he roamed over the ranch 
in unrestraint. 

“Oh, there is Billy,” said John,” Billy picks 


104 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


at Redwing, so we must bring him back to his 
den for all his lessons would soon be spoiled if 
Billy came near him. DonT get off, he must 
carry you back to where you got on. ’ ’ 

Billy was a powerful, handsome black horse 
that had been one of the best working horses on 
the place until he began to diet upon the loco 
weed and became crazy. Now all he did was to 
wander aimlessly about the place with sores on 
him, reminders of the times that he climbed 
barbed wire fences, and he would not allow any 
one to apply remedies to them. He was harm- 
less enough, but not understanding the play of 
Redwing, who nosed around him atfectionately, 
sometimes receiving a vicious kick, whose failure 
to do damage was no fault of Billy’s. They did 
not have the heart to kill him for what he had 
been, and let him do as he pleased. 

Doubtless Redwing would not have been so 
willing to go back to captivity had not John been 
there; he had long ago learned that it was no 
use to pit himself against John, but he got a 
lump of sugar from Aine when she dismounted. 

‘‘You must not bribe a horse; he has to learn 
that he must mind.” 

“Yes, but John, you know he did not have to 
have me on his back and he was so good.” 

“That’s all right for you, but for me it would 
not do at all. I am going to train him for a 
saddle horse and he will have to do what I say. 
A horse that is petted too much would as like 
as not balk at hard service. Suppose there was 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


105 


a prairie fire for instance, and I had to ride for 
my life ahead of it. Yon know horses are more 
apt to turn and run into a fire than to run away. 
If he had been well trained he would not think 
for himself, but would obey my rein, and if I 
did not show fear he would have more courage. 
A horse knows at a glance, or even feels, when 
he can manage people who try to drive him, and 
the best horses will take advantage of one who 
does not know this and make them mind. They 
always get the best of the women who try to 
drive them. Take the broncos for instance ; I be- 
lieve both of them would throw themselves if 
mother or the girls took their reins. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But how do they know ? ’ ^ 

‘‘Oh, they knowj horses are sharp. When 
father or I take the reins they know they have 
to behave, but even we have to take notice of 
some of their ways, or they will quit. You know 
they are part wild. These prairies used to be 
covered with droves of wild horses. C’owboys 
lassoed many of them but it took a long time to 
tame them and they are never like other horses. ’ ^ 
“John do you remember living in the dug- 
outr’ 

“Well, I guess I do ; we have only been living 
in the house about eight years. That looks 
small to you I suppose, but it was a palace to 
us when we moved into it.’’ 

“The dugout must have been uncomfortable. 
Weren’t you cold and damp sometimes? especi- 
ally in winter?” 


106 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


no, it was nice and warm inside; we 
had a fire place and a chimney and we had 
secure doors to barricade against the snow. We 
really had two dugouts, one beside the other. 
You probably noticed the storm cellar where 
it wasnT cemented; father had to cement the 
walls after the roof caved in on us one day 
when we were digging it. The earth looks 
almost like putty, so smooth and fine and you 
can cut slices olf with the spade as clean as can 
be and it does not crumble, but in wet weather 
if the rain happens to last long, it gets down 
through and pieces of the roof fell in so father 
cemented it all but that one little place in front ; 
and to make the cement he just put a little 
lime in with the dirt he dug out and it made 
a fine cement.’’ 

“Didn’t you have a wet floor sometimes in 
the dugout?” 

“No, hardly ever, there were some rises in 
the ground above it that sloped the other way 
and the hill on top of our dirt house was about 
four feet thick at the back; then you see we do 
not have much rain.” 

“I don’t know whether I could live in a dug- 
out.” 

“We thought it was all right because we were 
used to it and had no other home and you would 
probably rather live in one than sleep on the 
prairie. Most of the people who homesteaded 
lived in dugouts at first for there was no wood 
to be had or bricks or stone; there is np stone 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


107 


around here but those magnesia rocks and 
they are no good. The Indians set the fashion 
of dugouts; they were like coyotes and rabbits, 
they would burrow everywhere, but preferred to 
find a place ready made like ^‘Castle Rock.’^ 
Anne felt that John thought she was proud and 
hastened to change the subject. 

^‘When it gets summer I mean to get every 
bit of that loco weed out of the ground, so that 
Redwing and our other horses will not eat it 
and go crazy.’’ 

‘AVhat will you think of next? there isn’t 
such a lot of it, though. Once a horse gets the 
taste for it he knows where to find it.” 

‘‘It must be like the whiskey habit,” said 
Anne, “or the morphine habit.” 

John knew about the whiskey habit, but the 
other was a strange and remote term and he was 
not interested enough to ask what it was. 

Agnes was at the pump trying to persuade 
Michael and Charles to replenish the domestic 
supply of water which had to be carried in 
buckets to the house. She was not succeeding 
very well though this was the boys’ work and 
she had to carry the bucketful to the kitchen. 
They would not mind John any better, and 
seemed to be suffering from one of their fre- 
quent attacks of contrariety, a fault common 
to all small boys. 

“Maybe they want a lump of sugar,” said 
Anne. 

“They haven’t enough to do in winter to keep 


108 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


in practice,^’ said John. ‘‘Oh, say, Michael, I 
forgot to tell you Mr. Neill told me to tell you 
that he wanted you to drive out to the river 
with him Monday if it is cold and help him to 
fill his ice house. ’ ^ 

“I wouldnT think the ice would be good, it 
has thawed so much,’’ said Michael. 

“He says it is; you know the river there is 
in the shade of a hill and stays frozen longer 
than in any other place. You must go and tell 
him whether you will go or not. He is good to us 
in giving us ice when we need it.” 

“All right. I’ll go now.” 

‘ ‘ Don ’t let him make a socialist of you, ’ ’ called 
John after him. 

“If he is one I wouldn’t want to he,” called 
Michael hack. 

“Sh! you mustn’t say things about neigh- 
bors,” said Agnes, but Michael was half way 
there by this time. 

“Charles, I never want to have to speak to 
either you or Michael about providing for the 
kitchen ; if your sisters cook for you big, hungry 
hoys you ought to do that. You know I do not 
want you to carry more than you can easily,” 
said aunt Elizabeth. 

“Why can’t John help?” whined Charles, a 
thing he did sometimes. 

“All right, son, fill the pail and I will carry 
it,” said John with a chuckle that Charles did 
not notice, who filled his pail and brought it to 
John, who said, “Now don’t drop the bucket,” 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


109 


and with that he picked Charles np under his 
arm, bucket and all and carried him kicking 
into the house, the water staying in the pail 
somehow. 

While the others were preparing supper and 
it was yet light Anne practiced some on the 
piano; not the popular selections that pleased 
the other young people but her beloved Schu- 
mann’s ‘‘Album For Youth,” and Reinecke’s 
short pieces which were her favorites. 

She had good modern training in the convent 
school, and a student once set upon the right 
way is not apt to forsake it for cheap musical 
exploits. She declared, with spirit, that most 
of the popular pieces were trash, excepting the 
parts stolen from other better composers who 
would resent its bad company, and she was fond 
of playing Schumann’s Happy Farmer” to show 
them the popular song “Redwing” was only 
a bad imitation of it. 

When they could spare the time, the girls, 
and boys too were initiated into the mysteries 
of correct hand position, training of hand and 
arm muscles, and she tried to impress upon 
them the difference between good music and 
amusement mmsic ; they were all apt and musi- 
cal, but it would take a little time and more 
understanding to supplant the gay music which 
was a relief to the somber color of their daily 
lives. 

John had a violin which had belonged to his 
grandfather and had picked out many airs up- 


110 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


on it with good tone and pitch ; the winter even- 
ings were merry times. 

They often took down the receiver and called 
np the others on the line when they were play- 
ing and singing so that the lonely ranchers could 
have a little change. 

John had a great desire to study and become 
a good musician, having much talent. Knowing 
such an expensive education to be out of the 
question, and moreover knowing something of 
the hard grind of the modern musician’s life 
owing to that field being crowded with cheap 
incompetents, his father and mother in the 
gentlest way tried to keep his mind from being 
bent too much in that direction; yet knowing 
how futile their efforts might be if just the 
right test came to John. 

Anne’s teaching was of a positive sort, as 
might be expected from inexperience, and like 
the Frenchman who could not see why the Irish- 
man could not understand what he said in such 
beautiful plain French, she had not much pa- 
tience in elucidating things, not knowing that 
there must be a foundation of rudimentary 
knowledge laid under efficient musical study. 

Unlike almost any other citizen, the farmer 
cannot plan much for the future of his family, 
unless he happens to be possessed of means. 
He gives them unstinted the learning of the dis- 
trict school, and does the work and takes the 
steps that have formed part of the daily rou- 
tine of the children in the time when the closed 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


111 


door of the little school house meant that the 
presiding genius of knowledge was washing 
dishes and making clothes and having a little 
holiday time in her own home circle, perhaps in 
another state. 

It seemed no use to train either girls or boys 
to teach in the home temple of learning by the 
dusty roadside. Others had tried it; the people 
in such a sparsely settled district know each 
other too well; they remember that Miss Lane 
said that Thomas was not good in arithmetic and 
in a long lifetime Thomas never catches up with 
arithmetic no matter how hard he studies ; Kate 
was a failure in geography ; George never could 
spell correctly, and all these items of very per- 
sonal criticism from a teacher perhaps dead and 
gone, being once disseminated were never for- 
gotten, nor was the reputation acquired in this 
desultory fashion ever eradicated even after 
taking a course in other better equipped local- 
ities. So matters stand in the majority of very 
small places. 

With these two good parents there was no 
chance at present for their children, with a mort- 
gage on the farm which threatened to be a men- 
tal aggravation for some time, judging future 
prospects from the past; so, having done their 
best according to their lights, and with cheerful 
trust in the Providence which takes note of 
even the fall of a sparrow, they resolved, come 
what might, never to sit and brood down in the 
dungeon of worry which sundry persons not 
on mortgaged farms can seemingly make a con- 


112 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

genial abiding place for a good part of their 
lives. 

So a bank of cheerfulness was formed in this 
simple home and despondency was like a pro- 
tested note that had to be paid in at once with 
enormous interest that made it a thing to be 
avoided with patient elfort, helped by every 
one around them. 

Anne had this kind of training pretty thor- 
oughly done at school, and without any moral- 
izing or dormitory sermons upon the subject, it 
had been impressed upon her by the conditions 
around her that girls that were ever worrying, 
and crying, and whining, were avoided by every 
one and became the butt of private conversation 
among the coteries, and if such girls did not 
mend their social ways they had a very lonely 
session. And the whiner was a pariah even in 
this family whose members gave up everything 
so cheerfully after looking the sacrifice in the 
face for a while, which was but natural. 

There had been a long time that they had had 
no musical instrument ; we do not miss so much 
the things we have not possessed; then some 
one gave aunt Elizabeth a wheezy organ with 
many mute notes, yet they coaxed a great 
amount of enjoyment out of its infirmities. 

She had been a good player in her younger 
days, and in her leisure taught her two girls, 
they in turn imparted some useful musical 
knowledge to the boys such as picking out 
chords and playing amusing jingles when they 
were in the mind. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


113 


In her numerous drives through the county, 
aunt Elizabeth discovered quite a few oppor- 
tunities to take orders for pianos among the 
well to do ranchers and orders for other things 
worked in gradually and she decided that a 
piano would be a good investment for her mus- 
ical little flock and a future asset as well, and 
immediately made arrangements with a firm 
in the county seat to buy a piano by selling some 
for him, the percentage paying in time for her 
instrument. 

The ranchers respected her judgment and the 
dealer grateful for her influence and assistance 
gave her a fine piano. So it really cost her no 
more than a succession of very pleasant drives 
over the country, with many rich reminiscences 
of days with neglected acquaintances and was 
an unspeakable joy to the family at home, that 
had so few of what people in general would 
call pleasures. 

Now the piano was the background of the 
domestic universe ; the solace in loneliness, the 
outlet for exuberance of spirits, the confidant 
of many things. It attracted people for miles 
around, as pianos were not common on the 
prairie, and it also proved a leavener of the 
joys and sorrows of the vicinity within reach 
of the telephone. So their days went along, each 
growing a little in the things the outside world 
did not seem to care for; having few of the 
prizes, keeping about even in the matter of 
mere necessities; always prepared to be satis- 


114 


AN UNWILUNG traveler 


fied with the attainable; not wasting their 
hearts by reaching out too far; with bite and 
sup for every traveler, and the surety of their 
own welfare anywhere on that vast stretch of 
rolling prairie. 

The Sunday trip to church represented a va- 
riety of hardships; one of them being in at- 
tendance, usually. Those of the family who 
rode in the low carriage with a staid horse fared 
pretty well ; the hard spring farm wagon which 
carried the others behind the two broncos usu- 
ally had neither ease nor comfort if roads were 
rough, or a hot sun shining. 

It promised well on that particular Sunday, 
for Mr. NeilPs trip for ice the next day, and 
Michael, who did not stand the cold very well, 
and had no great coat to keep it off, was shiver- 
ing at the prospect of the morrow. 

There was a keen north-west wind that they 
would have to face coming home if it did not 
go down, and every one was glad that it was 
behind now, on account of the particles of fine 
sand it brought along with it. The roads had 
been muddy and considerably broken up by 
travel, freezing as it churned up. No one 
thought of mentioning the discomforts but the 
quiet of the little caravan was not altogether 
Sunday sobriety. 

Aunt Elizabeth had made Anne a warm hood 
out of some pieces of black velvet aunt Lucy 
had found in her piece bag, and they had a 
bit of fur from another quarter, that almost 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


115 


matclied Anne^s nice furs, so Anne was so com- 
fortable with her warm mittens and overshoes 
that she felt ashamed to be so warm while her 
cousins were blue with cold long before they 
reached the church. Unfastening her fur col- 
lar she buckled Veronica into it with her, and 
made Agnes take her muff into which Michael 
immediately put his hands, but gave it up when 
he had thawed them a little. 

‘‘We are smoking,’^ said he, blowing a long 
puff into the air; then every one had to try 
that to take their minds off the cold ; and Michael 
finally got down under the thick robe at their 
feet, only coming out at intervals to breathe, 
like the seal whose skin decorated his head in 
a cap that was now going down through the 
family as such things will. 

For some reason, it was several degrees 
warmer in the town ; perhaps the many smoking 
chimneys had a little to do with it. The sun 
was shining brightly on the porch of the church, 
and every one that came stood for awhile en- 
joying a little respite from the keen wind, and 
the sun made it a warm spot. 

There were often strangers in the church; 
the ranch people had relatives in the four quar- 
ters of the globe^ who on occasions found their 
way out to the prairie. 

One nice looking woman about thirty years 
old, who had what one of the ranchers called a 
Boston accent asked several questions of aunt 
Elizabeth, and proclaimed herself a stranger 


116 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

passing througli tlie village who had stopped 
to attend church. Her costume was neat and 
stylish; designed for hard wear and comfort, 
and the girls and matrons, who did not often 
have a chance to see city styles walking about 
took mental notes of the smart felt hat with 
a redbird’s wing adorning it; the shaggy grey 
cloth suit was perfect in its lines and her long 
dark grey coat had broad cuffs and collar of 
mole-skin which was a fur unfamiliar to the 
feminine element on the plains. 

She was pleasant hut not talkative, and 
seemed to want to make the most of her short 
stay by getting acquainted with every one. She 
had aunt Elizabeth tighten her veil, and while 
this was being done, a bundle of news passed 
back and forth. An affable stranger was like 
a newspaper. 

She had some pleasant words for the girls 
and for Anne, at whom she looked with quite 
pardonable curiosity, for Anne was a picture 
with her bright face and fine carriage; at last 
she asked Anne what her name was and said, 
^^What an old-fashioned name! I should have 
guessed it Rose.’’ 

Anne too was attracted by the city ways of 
the stranger and when the others went inside, 
she was far behind exchanging friendly looks 
with the lady who had been invited to share 
the family pews, they had two, hut she wanted 
to enjoy the sun a moment longer. 

Wlien she came in, Anne, expecting her, had 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER IIT 

gone in to tlie second pew with Michael and 
Veronica, and she moved along to make room 
for her. 

She seemed very devout, but a little peculiar 
in her devotion, and not so well posted upon 
the service as might be expected from one who 
had been so anxious to attend it. When every 
one else was standing at the ‘ ^ Credo she did 
not rise but leaned over and whispered to Anne 
that she felt faint from the heat of the stoves, 
and was afriad she would have to go out; would 
Anne go out with her and show her where to 
get a glass of water? 

Anne whispered to Michael, who sat next, 
that she was going out to Hunt’s to get a glass 
of water for the lady, and they left almost un- 
noticed by the standing worshippers, and the 
choir singing as hard as it could. 

When they were outside the woman smiled 
upon Anne and said, believe I have some 
medicine in my bag that would do more good 
than the water, it is so cold,” and she walked 
rapidly through the church yard gate, and up 
the road quite a way, to where a strong little 
automobile stood that had one double seat and 
a smaller one. 

Anne followed the smile, and the woman got 
into the machine, took her bag from a recep- 
tacle under the seat and asked Anne to step up 
and hold the packets which she took out one 
after the other very rapidly, until she found 
the right one; there was a sputtering from some- 


118 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


where and chugging, and before she realized it, 
so thoroughly had the smile and her surprise 
at seeing the auto, taken her attention, the 
woman was sitting down, both doors were closed 
and they were moving rapidly down the road. 

‘‘1^11 feel better when we come back,’’ she 
said to Anne as she took a very tiny pill out 
of one of the little bottles, took it, but Anne 
could not say that she swallowed it, and the 
rather dazed little girl had an impulse to voice 
a disapproval of auto rides when she should 
be in church, and when they did not turn, but 
went on and on, the thought came to her in 
a flash that she was being run away with. Ris- 
ing quickly she would have thrown herself out 
upon the roadside at the risk of her life had 
not the lady with one hand forced her back 
upon the seat saying, ‘‘Now be quiet, and when 
I have a chance to slow down a little I will ex- 
plain to you; but be sure that I mean you no 
harm.” 

‘‘You are stealing me away from dear aunt 
Elizabeth and everything,” Anne panted with 
a very white face, there was no use now to 
scream, there was no house for a couple of miles, 
and they were going north again, going like 
a rocket over a road that was in better condi- 
tion than the one they travelled on their way 
to church. She flung herself back upon the 
cushions in an agony of bereavement from 
everything she loved, feeling keenly her help- 
lessness. She saw Hudson’s comfortable build- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


119 


ings coming in sight as they came up out of 
a hollow, and she felt the machine increasing 
its speed on passing a habitation from whence 
help might issue. 

Anne took a good long breath and as they 
passed the gate she screamed, ‘^Mrs. Hudson! 
Mrs. Hudson!’^ forgetting in her anguish that 
all the family were at church; and after pass- 
ing this extensive ranch, she knew that no other 
place with which she was familiar would ap- 
pear on her horizon. She sobbed and moaned, 
and buried her face in her hands, rocking back 
and forth on the seat; the tears did not come, 
the misery was too great for that. 

She looked across fields and saw the beloved 
little place where her heart was centered now, 
saw it fade away into the distance as they 
passed it on this unfrequented road, and not 
so far away but that they could have seen her 
had any one been at home. 

There was Daisy stalking round, the cows 
munching in the corral, and calling, ‘ ‘ Aunt Eliz- 
abeth, Aunt Elizabeth!” hopelessly, she made 
another effort to jump out to be again re- 
strained. 

Now there was no use, and she sat wringing 
her hands and saying over the names of all the 
loved ones she was leaving behind. 

The woman sat, handsomer than ever, because 
of a look of what must have been sympathy 
on her face, but her eyes were strained straight 
ahead on the lookout for holes in the road, and 


120 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. 

When Anne remembered to pray she became 
quieter ; she had an instinct that talking would 
serve no purpose until they reached the end of 
that wild ride wherever it was to end. 

The tears fell slowly as they scudded through 
scenes new to her, breaking more and more 
thoroughly all dear ties. Though she did not 
know it, they were headed for the railway miles 
to the north, the smoke of which they could just 
see the day they were at ^ ^ Castle Rock. ’ ^ 

With the resilience of the child nature, care- 
fully trained, she recovered from the first shock, 
which was to her affections; trying to recall 
some of the things aunt Elizabeth had tried to 
impress upon her in case this dreaded thing 
should come to pass. One of these cautions was 
that she must keep her wits about her and take 
an impression upon her mind of everything that 
happened, places visited, or passed through and 
if possible write things down. 

While she was still engaged in marshalling 
her reluctant mental forces, they rolled into 
the tiny station, having been over an hour on 
the road, and Anne heard her order to put the 
automobile on the eastern train. She took Anne 
by the hand, which from that time she did not 
release unless they were abroad train or ship, 
Anne heard her buy a ticket and a half ticket 
to Buffalo, New York, which surprised her and 
put a new fear into her heart. She had expected 
New York City would be the stopping place 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


121 


and that they would take ship from there; it 
had been perfectly clear to her from the moment 
she had realized that she was being run away 
with that this was the agent of those mistaken 
English people. 

In the little church, when Anne and the 
stranger went out together, Veronica, who was 
sharp, and a little romantic, had something flash 
through her mind that made her start as if to 
follow them, but suffering also from bashful- 
ness, the foot that had been lifted was planted 
in its place again, and just then the people 
sat down, and to go out and face that congre- 
gation was a bold deed not to be thought of. 

But her uneasiness and later on her fears, 
as Anne did not return, spoiled her devotions. 
She could scarcely wait until the last prayers 
were said, when she walked over Michael and 
almost ran down the aisle and hurried out of 
the church, anxiety and affection smothering the 
fear. 

Anne was nowhere near; she ran to Hunt’s, 
they had not been there, and an invalid grand- 
mother sitting at the window had seen the whole 
happening without being able to do anything 
even had she known that Anne needed help. 

Veronica ran back to the church, white and 
breathless, meeting the others coming out. They 
had all thought Anne was with her and Michael, 
so did not miss her. 

Mother, that woman took Anne, Mrs. Hunt 
saw them get into an automobile and she saw 


122 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


the woman get out of it before church way off 
where it would not attract attention while she 
was trying to steal Anne.’’ 

Aunt Elizabeth said no word, but her jaw 
set and her face wore a troubled look. She 
went to Hunt’s to get all possible information 
before taking any steps. There was not much 
to be had. The old lady had not surmised that 
anything was wrong though surprised to see 
Anne enter the automobile with a stranger ; she 
had gotten up to let the dogs out of the kitchen 
and to look after the dinner which was cooking 
on the stove, and when she again took her seat 
at her point of observation the auto was not in 
sight and the matter passed out of her mind ; 
she did not know which way they went. 

And there was no one else they could find 
who had seen them, the church being on the 
extreme edge of the village away from the dwell- 
ings, and most of the villagers were at church. 

No train had passed, nor was another passen- 
ger train due until four o’clock in the after- 
noon. 

They telephoned up and down the railroad, 
and from the ranchers within a radius of eight 
miles received the assurance that no woman 
and little girl had gotten by them. But they 
never thought of that lonely road to the rail- 
road on the north, and quite out of the calcula- 
tions of the travelers on this side. 

So Anne simply dropped out of sight; they 
talked of her kind heart and pleasing ways and 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


123 


industry for many days, at tlie ranch, and the 
children took very special care of her pets and 
charges, hoping that she might escape the cap- 
tors and come back soon. 

The next week one of the tiny envelopes they 
had hung around her neck came back post- 
marked Buffalo, then later one post-marked 
Rimouski, -iCan., written in her characteristic 
way with the assurance that she was well and 
on her way to England, one on her arrival in 
London then, a silence that brought stern lines 
in uncle Michael’s face and caused aunt Eliza- 
beth to lie awake worrying about this poor lamb 
left in her charge that she did not seem to be 
powerful enough to protect with her best in- 
tention and effort. 


Chapter XIL 


Anne was too shaken and tremulous to at 
once plan out a line of conduct for herself on 
this hard trip. She called to mind that her aunt 
had told her not to start a useless struggle; a 
little girl without money or near friends would 
be like a caged bird beating hopeless wings. 

Her spirit was a little crushed for the time; 
they boarded the train in time for the last call 
for dinner; when that was through with, it did 
not take long for she had no appetite, she curled 
herself up in a corner of the comfortable seat 
with her muff for a pillow and closed her eyes 
partly because she was worn out and partly be- 
cause she did not want to trust herself to say 
anything to her companion in the first excite- 
ment of her condition. 

She must keep cool; aunt Elizabeth had told 
her how much depended upon it. 

The woman, who could imagine how she felt, 
did not attempt to draw her into conversation, 
but let her make herself comfortable in the man- 
ner that best appealed to her. 

The last thing she thought of before she 
dropped off to sleep in the berth beside her 
companion was that aunt Elizabeth had told 
her not to waste time in repining until things 
could be bettered, and if there was anything en- 
joyable to try to enjoy it, as it might improve 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


125 


the situation in many ways, though when aunt 
Elizabeth said this she fully appreciated its 
difficulties. 

But the woman was handsome no longer, and 
her smile had no charm and she just could not 
be a lady and travel round stealing little girls. 
She supposed that she was well paid for it; 
and with these rather uncharitable reflections 
passing through her mind she remembered that 
she had not said her prayers, and after having 
said them fervently she dropped off in tired 
slumber. 

A new day brought other ideas and respon- 
sibilities. After breakfast when the woman en- 
deavored to engage her in conversation, notic- 
ing her so calm and quiet, sitting straight in 
her seat in great dignity after her outbreak of 
yesterday, then Anne turned upon her for the 
first time. 

‘^Are you paid a great sum for stealing meT’ 
she asked very composedly. 

The red deepened a little in the woman’s 
cheeks, probably from surprise at the coolness 
of the little lady who faced her with such su- 
perb aloofness written all over her, even upon 
her garments. 

^^You could not call it stealing when I am 
returning you to your grandfather. ’ ’ 

Where did he get the idea that he was my 
grandfather?” 

'‘Why, he has many proofs,” the woman an- 
swered with confidence. 


126 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


^‘Well I have plenty proofs that he must be 
crazy, and you canT expect me to be very nice 
to you ; I think you ought to take up some other 
business beside stealing little girls and making 
them unhappy.^’ 

The red was crimson by this time, and aston- 
ishment stared out of the once (to Anne) hand- 
some eyes. 

‘‘Well if she starts on that tack I shall have 
a pleasant trip,^’ thought the woman “but I 
cannot spank her because the old gentleman 
would not like it.’’ 

So two were planning a line of conduct on 
what promised to be no very pleasant trip 
for either. 

Anne was neither malicious nor vindictive; 
she had a great grievance, and was helpless. 

In her little pocket-book was five cents uncle 
Matthew had given her to put in the collection 
box. 

This was all she had, and she would keep it 
for postage; she was quite sure that stolen 
children would not be trusted with money. 

She could not see anything but malice in the 
conduct of the people who had taken her away, 
not believing that the people in England really 
wanted her for her own sake, and not under- 
standing any aspect of their claim. The woman 
was to her a paid thief, though very attractive, 
and the people behind her, a little girl’s future 
jailers. 

The woman was quick to see her own unen- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


127 


viable position in tbe mind of her charge. She 
had no data of the case, only did as she was 
told to do, and being clever, had been allowed 
to make her own arrangements for the trip so 
that pursuit might be baffled. 

On the train Anne was not allowed out of 
her sight for a moment. She was rather large 
for her age and the second conductor asked how 
old she was. 

The woman answered readily, that she lacked 
a few months of being twelve. 

‘‘I was ten years old last May,^^ said Anne 
looking straight at the conductor, who thought 
this very queer, and thereafter, when he passed, 
gave the two the benefit of the penetrating 
analysis such men know so well how to make. 

He spoke kindly to Anne several times and 
once threw a handful of peanuts into her lap, 
at which exhibition of good will she gave him 
a smile that went straight to his fatherly heart, 
the first smile that had come since she walked 
out of the little church. 

When they were near Butfalo he came back 
and casually asked Anne where she was going. 

don’t wish to go anywhere,” said Anne 
‘‘but would like to go back to my dear people 
on the prairie. She took me from there and I 
did not know I was coming away.” 

Things looked badly for the woman’s fees; 
she hastened to say, “I am taking her to her 
grandfather in England who is very rich and 
she ought to be glad to go, and I had to use 


128 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


a little subterfuge.’’ 

‘ ^ It is funny I would not know I bad a grand- 
father all these years,” said Anne with great 
dignity, ‘‘all my grandfathers died before I 
grew up.” 

The conductor looked serious. 

“I see,” he said. It looked decidedly sus- 
picious to him. 

“It is all right; I have legal papers to show 
in case I am held anywhere.” 

“Well ma’am, you may have to show them 
pretty often if she continues so outspoken. It 
looks to me as though those people will have 
a time proving their claim. You would better 
be good to her, she is a nice little girl.” 

“I would get it at the end of my trip if I 
were not, but you can see how it is.” 

The conductor’s eyes twinkled at Anne whose 
clear eyes twinkled back though she did not 
perfectly understand the application of that 
last remark; he said to her, “Be good now, it 
will come out all right if you have people who 
will look after you.” 

It proved fortunate later, that Anne decided 
to take out the first little stamped letter here, 
that was to be mailed in the United States, for 
this was her last opportunity as she discovered 
in a few hours. 

It required a good deal of managing and 
stealth to get at it, and get it out of the cover, 
and get the cover back on the other that had 
the English stamp on it. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


129 


Had her companion not been given to little 
after dinner naps, her chance would have been 
small. 

She felt very shy and adventuresome as she 
drew the neat packet from its hiding place 
around her neck and concealing it in her muff 
which she had purposely kept handy, she worked 
at the threads with a pin until she got the 
envelope out. Drawing out the tiny paper and 
little pencil and concealing the envelope in her 
muff while she wrote, she quietly unfolded it 
after glancing at the woman, who had her head 
laid back on the cushions as though asleep. 

With the smooth window sill as a writing 
desk she wrote hastily. 

Dear aunt Elizabeth: 

I am safe and well and have made her 
ashamed of herself I guess, we are going to 
England I do not know how or where our rail- 
road ticket is only to Buffalo, she is asleep but 
does not let me out of her sight. Maybe she 
will be sorry she took me before we get where 
we are going. 

Your loving Anne, many kisses. 

Had there been more good-fellowship between 
these two both would have been saved some 
embarrassing situations. The woman knew little 
about American ways it was evident, and Anne 
had travelled quite a bit. 

Soon they began to roll between tracks, 
nothing but tracks, and engines and cars flying 
criss-cross over head, down below, everywhere. 


130 


AN UNWIL.UNG TRAVELER 


They thought they must be near Buffalo station 
and Anne got up to get her cloak and bonnet. 
A gentleman in front of them who had been 
their companion almost the whole journey told 
her that it would be half an hour yet before 
they reached the station. 

Buffalo seemed to be a funny, dirty, smoky 
place, and dreadfully noisy, she thought, as 
every one does who has never seen its beautiful 
gardens and dwellings. 

The station was not very nice either, but it 
was such a busy place with such a rush of people 
in every direction, that few people stopped to 
examine into its lack of beauty. 

The first thing Anne looked for was a post 
box; she knew there was usually one in every 
station, and there it was close to her. Grasping 
her letter very firmly she was at the box in a 
trice and had the letter safely in before the 
woman could reach her which she made an ex- 
cited effort to do. 

Anne faced her remarking, ‘‘Now that’s 
done,” and smiling in satisfaction at getting it 
off unmolested. 

“What did you do?” the woman asked sharp- 
ly. 

Anne turned and looked at her calmly for a 
moment, “Pardon me, did you speak to me?” 
she asked. 

The woman laughed rather nervously. 

“Won’t you tell me what you posted?” 

“I do not know why I should.” 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 131 


‘‘It would not be pleasant for ns to be brought 
into court here and the result would be the same, 
as I have papers.’^ 

Anne was oblivious. 

“Will you not tell me whether it was a letter 
or a post cardU’ 

‘ ‘ Why no, I don T think I will ; I did not steal 
you. Aunt Elizabeth told me to go quietly if 
this ever happened and it would surely be 
righted on the other side,’’ and that subject 
had to be dropped. 

Anne had discovered quite early on the jour- 
ney that she had this obnoxious person at a 
disadvantage on account of her unfamiliarity 
with American ways and she did not propose to 
give her any pointers that might prove un- 
fortunate for herself later on. 

The woman had in her mind, “If it is a post 
card, well and good, post cards travel slowly 
and sometimes get stranded altogether, but a let- 
ter, that was different. It would be two or three 
days yet before they could hope to be on the 
water. 

“We will spend today in this dirty city, there 
are many purchases to be made.” 

Anne felt some resentment at the “dirty city” 
clause, she herself was an American and was 
privileged to think as she pleased about her 
own cities but no English person had that priv- 
ilege. 

Somewhere about the station her companion 
bought passage on the “Empress of Ireland” 


132 AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


as Anne read when she handed them to her to 
hold while she made a place in her purse. After 
a few inquiries of the man in this office they 
took a car to Main Street and got out in the 
fashionable shopping district.^ 

The woman was always calling the street cars 
“omnibuses’^ and asked the conductor if the 
seats on the roof were all taken. 

He looked at her as only a street car conduc- 
tor can look and held out his hand for the fares, 
paying no attention to her question. She was 
not to be balked in this way and persisted in 
the calm, determined English way, in wanting 
to know if the outside seats were all taken. 

“Did you see any outside seats on this car, 
madam f” he inquired in a tone and manner 
that showed that a little more of this kind of 
thing would be too much for him. ‘ ^ Fare please, ’ ’ 
and he jerked them both part way inside which 
excursion was nicely completed by the motor- 
man starting up with malicious intent, it might 
be supposed. Anne landed comfortably in the 
market basket of some poor woman, while her 
companion made a grab, instinctively, for the 
window frame, missed it, and thrust a menacing 
arm far out of the open window. The car was 
full and when she had recovered her arm, which 
threatened to go on a journey of its own, she 
went back to the conductor. 

“The seats of this car are all taken, sir. 

“I did not say they weren’t, there are some 
straps.” 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 133 

‘‘Are you allowed to take on passengers when 
the seats are fullT^ she persisted. 

‘ ‘ This car ain T full, ^ ’ and without further par- 
ley with this evidently crazy person he turned 
his poor shabby back and went on with his work 
of registering and jerking people on the cars 
and hurrying them off. 

It is hard to impose upon the English and he 
would not have gotten otf so easily had she 
not noticed that Anne was making acquain- 
tances. She went inside and found a strap to 
cling to after she had narrowly escaped ring- 
ing up some fares for the long suffering con- 
ductor, before she was comfortable. 

In the big apartment store she seemed more 
at home and passing many things that Anne 
would have lingered beside, they entered the 
children's department. To the smiling and cor- 
rect salesman who came forward to meet them, 
she said, “I wish to fit this child in a whole 
costume; something very good, if you please.’’ 

Anne who had been dreaming among the nice 
things, waked up at once. 

“Did you intend the clothes for me?” asked 
the child. 

Without paying very much attention to the 
query, the woman proceeded to outline her color 
scheme. 

‘ ‘ Because if you did you will be wasting your 
money for I mean to wear the clothes I have 
on until I go back to aunt Elizabeth.” 

“She is a little — ” the woman began, then 


134 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


biting her lips, looked at Anne with less patience 
than she had shown so far. 

“Yon know/’ said Anne to the salesman, 
“she stole me away from my dear home and is 
taking me to England to be unhappy until I 
can get back again. The clothes I have on are 
my own, bought with my own money, and I will 
not wear any others.” 

“I am taking her home to her grandfather. 
She has been lost a number of years and has 
been with some low people. Your grandfather 
would be very much put out with me if I brought 
you home looking so shabby. ’ ’ 

It had not occurred to Anne that she was 
shabby but everything about was very elegant 
and she felt that she did not exactly shine in 
contact with such beautiful things; this was a 
small thing however; the allusion to her family . 
as “low people” brought the blood to her 
cheeks. 

“You are low yourself, none of my people 
would steal a little girl; and talking about 
grandfathers does not make anyone my grand- 
father,” Anne was in an uncomfortable mood 
for her companion, but she sat composedly 
enough on a chair before the counter and there 
was no hint of compliance about her. 

“You see my prospect, taking a child like that 
to England, and being shut up in a ship with 
her,” the woman said to the salesman. 

Perhaps the salesman had a little daughter 
of his own, for he put back the garments he 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


135 


had taken down and looked thoughtfully at the 
little girl before him. 

“I wish I was sure that you mean right by 
this child,’’ he said finally. 

‘‘Oh, I have papers from the legal advisor 
of the gentleman in England.” 

“Aunt Elizabeth told me to go quietly if they 
ever took me ; I have no money or friends near 
me now but when I get to the other side this 
will be attended to. ’ ’ There was a hint of tears 
that had been in abeyance ever since that first 
awful day. 

“Well, that sounds sensible,” he commented 
thoughtfully, “if you have people who will see 
to it perhaps the best thing is to go right along 
and face it out.” but he looked as though he 
would not have liked his little girl to have to 
do it. 

‘ ‘ I will have to have some under clothing and 
if you will pay for them, I will pay it back, and 
I will pick them out myself.” 

The woman, whose patience was wearing, 
looked as though she would willingly stuff a 
lot of it down Anne’s throat; she could only 
acquiesce and Anne purchased some plain and 
inexpensive additions to her limited wardrobe 
without asking or heeding advice and serenely 
oblivious to the sniffs and laughter from the 
other. 

“Your grandfather will think I am bringing 
a rag bag to his grand house; he will be very 
angry with me and might cut down my pay. 


136 


AN UNWILIvING TRAVELER 


WouldnT you do it for me, dearie?’^ slie asked 
with her sweetest smile and a coaxing tone. 

But Anne was through with sweet smiles. 

‘‘I hope that old man, whoever he is, will be 
so disgusted that he will send me right back.^’ 
‘‘That would be nice enough for you if he 
gave you money enough to get back. It cost an 
immense sum to get you. ’ ’ 

That sinister suggestion made Anne lose her 
color; but she had become reckless about con- 
sequences and only wanted to see the days pass 
by and the dreaded thing to come to pass and 
to view the outcome of her unwilling journey. 

A neat suitcase was bought to hold the pur- 
chases and the woman carried it, saying in re- 
ply to an inquiry as to where she wished it sent, 
“We are going directly to the train.’’ 

They did not, however. It was a lovely day 
and they boarded a car after making more in- 
quiries and took a ride through the sylvan part 
of the city where there were most beautiful 
trees, one of which was a tulip tree putting out 
its buds and the green grass was stretching 
up under the brown. The fine houses with big 
yards like country places looked beautiful after 
the long absence from such scenery. Anne won- 
dered with a little pride if the woman had 
changed her mind about the “dirty city.” 

They rode about several hours and took din- 
ner at the Iriquois hotel, the Indian name of 
which interested her, but she would not ask 
that person about it, she decided that she prob- 


AN UNWIIvUNG TRAVELLER 


137 


ably would not know anyway. They took a much 
needed rest before wending their way to the 
railway precincts; this time it was tickets for 
Montreal that went into the purse, and the 
mystery deepened. Anne’s geography did not 
allow the intrusion of the idea that one could 
take steamers for England from such a far 
away place. But that would have furnished a 
difficulty for many other people in the States 
also at that time. 

Anne, who kept her mind concentrated upon 
the one thing that was vital to her, thought her 
companion had been through Buifalo before as 
she knew where to find everything she wanted 
apparently, and made her way to the baggage 
room of a different station without asking di- 
rections from anyone which would scarcely have 
been expected in one so lately from a foreign 
country. She went to check Anne’s suitcase, 
but had none of her own save a very small 
traveling bag. Anne thought the auto must 
have been returned to some dealer way back 
in the west as it did not make its appearance 
again. 

They crossed the suspension bridge over the 
Niagara river before dark and had a fine view 
of that immense fiood of water at the bottom, 
green and white with the thick mist curling up 
at the foot and enveloping the venturesome lit- 
tle boat just heading for its dock. It was a 
giddy sight from that slender bridge and it 
was a relief to be safe on the other side. 


138 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


At Toronto the woman seemed to make con- 
nection with her baggage which was a 
trunk unearthed from the bottom of a battered 
pile of luggage. The customs officer asked her 
if she wanted it to be bonded to London to 
which city it appeared they were going first. 
She took out some things needed on board the 
steamer, then they made a shopping expedi- 
tion to buy a suitcase to hold them, and she 
also bought a set of toilet articles for Anne. 

The man in the custom house insisted on 
opening Anne’s suitcase and he flopped the 
things about and seemed suspicious because 
everything was new. 

Anne did not know anything about custom 
house ways and thought him very fussy, and 
when it seemed as though she might have to 
pay duty for them, she told him in her direct 
way that it was all she had to wear on the 
journey and that she had no money either. The 
woman explained at some length that they had 
come away in a hurry and would have had no 
other chance to buy things till they reached 
London. 

‘‘Why didn’t you buy them here,’’ he asked 
in a burst of home loyalty. 

The woman did not explain that they would 
have done so had she not wished to change 
Anne’s costume in order to hide her identity 
before crossing into Canada, a plan frustrated 
by that young lady herself. He let it go as wear- 
ing apparel, cramming it back into the suit case 


AN UNWIL.L.ING TRAVEI.ER 


139 


and snapping it together. 

After the luggage was attended to and the 
berth secured they had a little time which was 
used by the woman going to a beauty shop and 
having her nails and face and hair attended 
to and she wanted Anne to submit to the same 
improving process, but our wise young lady 
not having any money of her own informed the 
lady in charge that she was perfectly satisfied 
with herself, and did not consider it necessary 
to dissipate the mist of wonder that rose be- 
tween that lady and herself. 

Her traveling companion shrugged her 
shoulders and drew on her gloves ; they walked 
together awhile in the brisk air before taking 
the train. Anne went where she was led glad 
to be out of the train for awhile ; she was very 
tired of it. 

It rained in Montreal and to her surprise she 
found that they were not to take the steamer 
here but in Quebec, a long distance further on, 
that ride being included in their steamer tickets. 

The train skirted the majestic Saint Law- 
rence river most of the way to Quebec and it 
appeared very lonely and solemn to one used 
to the lively Hudson. It had many cakes of ice 
floating upon it, grinding each other against 
the incoming tide, which is often of great height 
in this river. At one rather narrower point, 
on the other side of the river, there was a dark 
overhanging blur which the man in the seat 
in front said was the ruin of the iron bridge 


140 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


wMcli a short time before had collapsed into 
the river while in construction, carrying down 
with its heavy girders and iron network nearly 
four-score maimed bodies of workmen. 


Chapter XIII. 


It was night when they reached Quebec, and 
raining, but not cold, and it was a very dingy 
place where the steamer train ended its jour- 
ney. Some active persons quickly separated the 
people, sending part into one waiting room, 
part into another, and still another portion, the 
third section, into an even more uncomfortable 
place. Then the steamship company’s men ‘‘Let 
loose the dogs of war” in the guise of hotel 
runners and omnibus men approved by the com- 
pany. 

Even Anne’s companion got bewildered; 
without volition on their part the two were 
hustled into, and, in a short time, out of, a 
dark, dingy ’bus with a nnmber of other pas- 
sengers, and turned and twisted into the Nep- 
tune Inn, whose name was more picturesque 
and pleasant than itself appeared to be on first 
acquaintance, though it looked clean and its 
recommendation proved it respectable. 

Their room was pervaded by a deceiving 
smell of soap powder ; a dormer window opened 
outward in the English fashion, on black dark- 
ness. 

Neither of them slept much; there was a con- 
stant rattle of some kind outside the window 
that sounded as if some one were trying to^ get 
to the window to climb in. This was the idea 


142 AN UNWII.I.ING TRAVELER 

they both had about the sounds though no word 
was spoken between them ; each was uneasy in 
knowing that the other was awake and dis- 
turbed by the same thing, probably. 

Their room was situated in a remote corner 
of the house; there was no sound of bells, or 
passing feet, or the other familiar sounds of a 
hotel, and no other guest was very near them 
evidently, all of which increased the wakeful- 
ness. The night wore on without anything being 
accomplished by the attempting intruder if such 
it was; the noises continued, and the first grey 
streak of dawn saw Anne crawl out of bed 
and go to the window; it was still too dark 
there to see anything, and she returned to warm 
cover to wait a little longer. 

At the second eager trip, the cause of the 
nocturnal disturbance was so simple and blame- 
less that she had to laugh aloud, and the woman 
got up to see what it was. 

The hotel had evidently been recently en- 
larged and as that improvement could only be 
accomplished either by moving the hotel into 
the street or by taking a large slice off the cliff 
to which it clung, the hill behind had been dug 
into generously, and the new portion in which 
they were, was just beyond reaching distance 
of the steep, over-hanging cliff now dripping 
pebbles and loose dirt, and it was the rattle of 
these that had kept them awake. 

The top level, which was a street, (they could 
hear the wagons rolling by already,) was about 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


143 


forty feet above them. Seen from the outside 
the hotel was pretty enough in the daylight, 
clinging to the cliff with the noble river rolling 
below it. Just above, in the square, was a great 
statue of General Wolfe of revolutionary fame, 
who lost his life not far from there. Yet higher, 
with magnificent setting of river, cliff, and 
everything nature can give to beautify, was the 
fine hotel called Chateau Frontenac, about two 
blocks away. 

With innate good sense not too common in 
modern childhood, which never as a rule, misses 
a chance to try its wings, Anne kept close to 
the woman and made no hotel acquaintances 
though her bright face and pleasant ways won 
the usual amount of attention. 

The rain had ceased and at the desk the 
woman made some inquiries as to seeing as 
much of the city as possible in the two hours 
they had to wait before they could board the 
steamer, which was smoking away a long dis- 
tance out in the river, taking part of its load 
by lighters. The clerk told them there were 
many interesting places about the hotel which 
they could see by walking, before taking the 
street car. 

The street cars here kept up the reputation 
for experiences ; the conductors were nearly all 
French, and to every inquiry, rattled off a long 
vocabulary that perhaps contained very com- 
plete directions, and, in a nervous way gave you 
the impression that is was prepoterous not to 


144 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


know French, and not to understand such per- 
fectly plain language. Some conductors got so 
excited and impatient that they imagined that 
they were going to be put olf the car. 

But they found a few pleasant English speak- 
ing people who were kind enough to point out 
a number of interesting places. They covered 
a good many miles in the time they had. At 
one point where there were good stores they 
bought a steamer rug for Anne who demurred 
strongly against running further in debt to her 
captors, hut the woman pointed out to her im- 
pressively, the necessity of warm wraps on ship 
hoard and of head gear that would stand the 
salt water and the sea breezes, so she submitted, 
and her handsome rug, different colors on each 
side, and the becoming cap were neatly rolled 
in a shawl strap ready for shipboard. 

The last street car conductor had given them, 
very pleasantly, and in quite understandable 
language,^ directions as to what cars to take to 
reach their hotel, or rather the hotel Frontenac 
as he did not know their little stopping place 
and they gave the Frontenac as a near point. 
They rode for some time on the first returning 
car, and alighted at the designated place to 
transfer to the other, waiting precious moments 
for the proper car to put in an appearance, their 
perturbation so evident that a very fine gentle- 
man standing near, waiting also for a connec- 
tion, raised his hat politely and asked if he 
could be of service, remarking that he had no- 


AN UNWIL.UNG TRAVEI.ER 


145 


ticed their steamer luggage. 

‘‘Not being able to speak French we have 
been in great difficulties on the street cars, and 
if you would be so kind as to put us on a car 
that will take us near the Chateau Frontenac 
I should be obliged. 

“I saw you get off the car as I was waiting 
and noticed that you let many cars pass that 
I knew could serve you for any part of the 
city so I waited to see if I could help. When 
you boarded that car from which you just 
alighted you were about two blocks from the 
Chateau. You are now about two miles from 
it.’^ 

He waited until their car came along, carried 
their packages to it and put them aboard with 
truest courtesy. Anne rewarded him by turn- 
ing on the steps and saying, “thank you^’ with 
one of her sweet smiles, receiving in return an 
extra salute and a most pleasant smile. 

Arrived at their hotel, the bus had already 
gone and the landlord in some excitement had 
t^o go out and call a cab; returning in haste he 
helped them to get their things together and 
was helpful in so many kindly ways that the 
reputation of the little hotel went up many de- 
grees; he was grateful for a small bonus and 
sent after them many good wishes for a pleas- 
ant voyage, and they rattled once more over 
the paving stones of old Quebec. 

They were in plenty time for the steamer, of 
course, so seldom does a large steamer sail on 


146 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


time, and there were interesting things about, 
to take up the spare time. 

For some reason not very clear to herself, 
when Anne set foot upon the deck of the steam- 
er her tears began to flow and finally sobs, too, 
came easily. 

Don’t cry, child; every one is looking at 
you. It is too late to cry now.” She herself 
had boarded the vessel with a deep sigh of re- 
lief, for the steamer would sail in an hour, and 
the possibility of a rescue for Anne now was 
remote. Her own situation might be more dif- 
ficult in a way, hut she thought she would be 
equal to it. 

Anne had been a long while on a strain with- 
out giving way to it, and the accumulated feel- 
ings strove to find an outlet the moment she 
stepped on the deck; the surroundings brought 
back so many bitter memories of a trial that 
was the direct cause of her present difficulties. 

She had no words for this woman, but walked 
to the other side of the deck, laid her head on 
the rail and sobbed without restraint, to the 
wonder of the passengers about, some coming 
close to offer a word of comfort assuming that 
the outburst was caused by homesickness. The 
sight of the uniforms of the officers, the ropes 
and fittings of the deck, everything brought 
back that terrible day when she turned back 
to America in a strange ship, while her dear 
mother lay under dark water. She had been 
trained to keep her mind off the dreadful cal- 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


147 


amity and her mind had been tranquil for some 
time back, but now she could see her pretty 
mother, her face white and wistful as she said 
to her when she had kissed her hurriedly and 
was thrusting her into the boat, ^‘Good-bye, 
dear, God keep you; donT forget me.’^ But 
until they went away from her, Anne never sus- 
pected that she was to be left behind. Her 
mother had picked up a handsome pink cloak 
lined with white fur oft the deck and had thrown 
it into the boat for Anne; some one passed it 
to her but it was unheeded by the frantic child 
who tried to jump from the boat. 

Now everywhere she saw that loving, wistful 
face, and it was not a thing to be talked about 
with strangers. When the last tie was cut from 
shore and the usual tearful and sober waving of 
handkerchiefs continued until the vessel was al- 
most out of sight, then the steward had time 
to attend to them and they were' soon cosy in 
their second cabin apartment. The woman 
would have preferred to have gone first cabin, 
and it was provided for, but she felt that the 
heiress of the Ashley millions was too shabby 
to be introduced among the fashionable people 
in the first cabin. Anne, however, was perfectly 
satisfied with what she considered luxurious ap- 
pointments and which they really were, looking 
back to the first cabin of thirty years before. 
She was not aware that there were ^tter quar- 
ters aboard. The green velvet divan that took 
up one side of the cabin was a capital place 


148 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


to curl up and read, and she went delightedly 
through the perfect apparatus for making the 
toilet, which she polished and scrubbed every 
day and kept in immaculate order to the amuse- 
ment of her companion who mentioned several 
times that there were servants to do that. 

By keeping busy she was able gradually to 
put away all the depressing feelings and even 
to enjoy many aspects of steamer life. She 
made acquaintance with the steward, a funny, 
dried up little man who seemed to have a great 
deal to do; and the waiters at table were the 
most affable of men, who helped her through 
the bill of fare without once getting impatient. 
She enjoyed the incidents of the big dining 
salon rather more than she did the deck; one 
could sit in the comfortable chairs and eat and 
look out at the water rolling past. 

They had one of the officers at their table, 
a genial elderly Englishman, and there was a 
woman who had lived in Alberta, who told in- 
teresting stories. On the opposite side of her 
table sat a civil engineer who had charge of the 
project of blazing the way for a new railroad 
somewhere into the interior of British America, 
who was going back to England with a rosy, 
happy young fellow, one of his nineteen aides 
in the wilderness, who had just come of age 
and was returning to England to claim a for- 
tune that was waiting for him. 

There was one of His Majesty’s cavalry men 
also ruddy and happy, who looked as though 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


149 


he might be going to his wedding ; the other pas- 
sengers were staid and sedate English people 
some of whom were possessed of means. 

That first evening everyone was in good spir- 
its, as is usually the case the first day out, an- 
ticipating a pleasant trip and something inter- 
esting at the other end of the journey. There 
were cosy times in the library after supper, 
where those who did not care to brave the stiff 
wind on deck, gathered to write voluminous let- 
ters on the ship’s stationery, to get acquainted 
with the ship’s librarian and draw an interest- 
ing book from the small but good collection, or, 
if they were musical, ti reel off some of the 
popular music on the piano. 

There was the pervading sea odor every- 
where, not a pleasant odor but every one is 
fond of it, and a sea trip would lose half its 
savor without it. 

Most of the male passengers found more con- 
genial places on board than the quiet library 
where they were not expected to smoke or play 
cards. The library assemblages were rather se- 
lect than otherwise. The big white ship threaded 
its way between the double lines of bouys and 
lighthouses that mark the channel of naviga- 
tion of the great Saint Lawrence which is made 
on a large plan but is finicky and treacherous as 
to channel. The warning objects are so various 
and some of them so picturesque as to add much 
to the interest and break the monotony when 
at length the bleak shores recede so far as to 


150 


AN UNWII^IvING TRAVELER 


be indistinct. The bonys had intermittent lights 
and as they are too far from shore to be at- 
tached to anything they were a mystery until 
one of the officers cleared it up at the table, by 
saying that they were charged with compressed 
gas that was in cylinders and would last three 
months. The cylinder was removed when ex- 
hausted and another substituted. The lights 
never went out and were not affected by wind 
or tide. 

They passed one lighthouse looking like a 
small fortress, quite round and set nearly in 
the middle of the river, and on the top, which 
was filled in with earth and had some plants 
growing on it, lay one of the exhausted cylin- 
ders in plain sight and not looking as though 
it could contain a three month’s supply of gas. 
Some of the bouys tumbled around in the water 
tipsily, and others had bells on which rang sol- 
emnly. 

Anne had no one to talk to, her antipathy 
to the woman not having undergone any change 
so she drew ‘‘In Kensington Gardens” out of 
the library after a consultation with the librar- 
ian, and after breakfast ensconced herself in 
a very comfortable big green velvet chair to 
read. She was left to herself as much as she 
liked now, and was beginning to feel as though 
it would be nice to have some one who was 
friendly to talk to, but she kept to her resolu- 
tion not to be too friendly with strangers and 
made no advances to any one, also withdrawing 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


151 


the patronage of her smiles. 

“In Kensington Gardens’’ is a sweet story 
and gave her an idea of delightful English life 
and she tried to make mental pictures of the 
scenes as she read, that being the only available 
pleasure, but quite worth trying. 

There were few young people on board and 
these few formed themselves into a clique and 
drew a cordon about to keep away intruders. 

In a little while, the sun coming out warm 
and bright, she strayed out on deck with her 
book, and finding some comfortable chairs that 
gave silent invitation, she seated herself in 
one of them and after watching the shores for 
awhile took to her book again. 

Some of the people who passed her, looked 
sharply at her, and passing again, stopped a 
moment, but she was buried in the “Gardens” 
and did not notice. 

It happened again with a longer pause which 
was noticeable, because nearly everyone else was 
racing like mad about the deck with the easy 
stride that only the English have to perfection. 
Then another came along and stopped and this 
time it was the rosy faced young man, and he 
spoke to her. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see this funny little 
lighthouse on the other side?” he asked, in a 
cheery musical voice, and Anne looked up, not 
detaching herself at once from her book as she 
had not at once taken the remark to herself. 

She looked into a pair of boyish blue eyes, 


152 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


that just now were full of deference and got 
up; immediately the fat discontented looking 
woman who had been standing in front of her 
making unpleasant remarks about something, 
plumped herself into the chair vacated by Anne. 

They walked to the side of the vessel and 
saw the light to good advantage, passing close 
by it. The wind was just fresh and nice and 
she found her cap a great comfort as her hood 
was too warm for such a balmy day. 

Which side is your steamer chair onT’ he 
asked after they had talked about the ship and 
the weather and the houys and there threatened 
a stop. ‘Uf I knew where it was I would have 
mine put next to it, that is if your mother did 
not mind.” 

^^My mother is dead,” said Anne. 

‘‘Well, that lady who has charge of you,” he 
ventured again. “She stole me; she is nothing 
to me,” said Anne a little excited because she 
had a sympathetic person to tell it to, then was 
sorry she had told it as she had made up her 
mind not to be too conspicuous in her resent- 
ment. 

“Oh!” he said, not liking to ask questions, 
but waiting for further information which did 
not come. 

With the aptitude of the young to scent out 
adventure and mystery he decided that he 
would constitute himself a body guard for this 
nice little girl, and only take the surveyor into 
his confidence; perhaps they could set things 
right for her. 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVKI.ER 


153 


Tlie companionsliip of a congenial person so 
long denied was so sweet to Anne that the topic 
of her misfortunes seemed at that moment very 
distasteful and to be avoided. 

‘‘I haven ^t any steamer chair/’ she said 
frankly. 

A gleam of amusement came into his eyes, 
will buy one for you/’ he offered. 

‘‘Oh, do you have to pay! then I must have 
been sitting in that lady’s chair,” she said in 
some confusion. 

“Never mind, she wasn’t a lady; it would 
take some of the fat off her to tramp round 
more. ’ ’ 

“She should have told me.” 

“Let me get you a chair.” 

“Oh, no; I can sit in the library, and walk 
when I am on deck.” 

He surmised at once that she had no money. 

The woman came on deck and after taking a 
swift glance around to locate her charge, came 
up to them. ‘ ‘ I have taken two steamer chairs, ’ ’ 
was the first thing she said. “You must always 
bring your steamer rug out with you when you 
sit out and wrap yourself to your feet. Come, 
and I will show you where they are.” 

“I think I will go and get my steamer rug 
now, ’ ’ said Anne, not displeased, yet feeling that 
she was rapidly running into debt. 

The young man remained with the woman. 

“She is a fine little American,” he remarked. 

“She is not American, she is English; I am 
taking her to her grandfather.” 


154 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


‘^She talks American,’^ he said. 

‘‘I suppose she told you all about it.^’ 

‘‘That is where you are wrong; we talked 
about the bouys and the chairs, and a few other 
little things.’’ 

They took a few rapid turns about the deck; 
she was a good walker; then she went to her 
cabin and appeared no more on the voyage. And 
at dinner-time it was evident that mal de mer 
was beginning to decimate the walking popula- 
tion. 

Anne snugly wrapped herself and was again 
enjoying her book, stopping once in awhile to 
think how nice it was that the boy had saved 
her that embarrassment about the chairs. Soon 
he came out and sat in the next chair, which be- 
longed to the woman. 

“I don’t know, but I think it will be some 
time before that lady comes up again.” 

“Why?” asked Amne not much interested in 
that subject. 

‘ ‘ She was green and yellow and had a chill. ’ ’ 

Anne did not understand. 

“Sea sick.” 

No comments were made. 

“Do you know,” he said boyishly, “if we 
can help you in any way just tell us ; if you do 
not want to go with her you do not have to, 
you know.” 

“Oh, yes, I do,” said Anne, “aunt Elizabeth, 
who lives way out west where I was, told we to 
go quietly if this ever happened. We have ex- 
pected it for some time. They take me for 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVEI.ER 


155 


some one else who was drowned. ^ ^ 

‘‘But I do not see — he began, when she 
went on. 

“Nothing can be done unless I see it through; 
they would take me some time, and if they will 
not believe my story my relatives will come 
after me, and if it is uncle Matthew they had 
better watch out. This woman is only paid to 
take me. I donT talk to her; she took me right 
out of church.^’ 

The young fellow did not feel quite so sure 
of the outcome as Anne. He reflected that people 
desperate enough to steal a child would waste 
no chance to keep her. 

They always shared their interesting experi- 
ences after that and he found a couple of ladies 
who would be nice to her though he did not 
tell her story. 

“ In a few hours we will meet the mail steamer 
which comes out from Rimouski and leaves and 
brings away the last mail; if you have any to 
go it must be given in at once,^^ with a twinkle 
of amusement in his eyes at the idea of this 
child having any important mail. 

She thought at once of the little envelope with 
the English stamp on it, and without hesitation 
took him into her confidence by asking if it 
would be better to mail it now or wait until she 
reached the other side. 

The boy was quite businesslike. 

“We will write this one and send it this after- 
noon and I have some small card envelopes and 
we can cut paper to match for the letter to be 


156 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


mailed when you land on the other side, but 
I donT think you will need to hang them around 
your neck again. ^ ’ 

‘‘She would not let me talk to any one when 
we boarded the ship and I suppose it will be 
the same when we land on the other side, so 
I think it would be better to hide it; I would 
scratch her face if she tried to take it. ’ ^ 

He laughed at her vehement earnestness then 
became serious as he thought how lonely and 
defenseless she would be.’’ 

“I will tell you what we will do, I have some 
English stamps that I keep to enclose in my 
letters to my sister. "We will write two more 
letters leaving the special things to be filled in 
the blank spaces and you can sew them up and 
post them the first chance you have in England. 
It may not be an easy thing to do if they watch 
you closely.” 

“She saw me post the first one too late to 
hinder and will be suspecting me.” 

y^en she spoke of the place on the Isle of 
Wight where her spurious grandfather lived to 
which place she expected to be taken, she was 
alarmed to see him slap his knee and act as 
though he had suddenly lost his mind. 

‘ ‘ That is the very place where Mr. Anderson’s 
English counsel lives; he is at his home now. 
Mr. Anderson is my chum. I will have you meet 
him after supper. It is a pity the lady is ill 
but fortunate for us,” he had already taken the 
case into his hands. 


Chapter XIV. 


With the woman ill there was no interference 
with the mail; when they saw the little govern- 
ment steamer waiting for them anchored in the 
river, Anne’s letter was in the bag waiting to 
be taken off. 

The mail steamer was piled high with what 
looked like laundry baskets but a passenger 
posted in matters said they were mail bags. 
Anne thought the Canadian people must have 
had a very busy spell writing letters. It was 
quite a little company to have it anchored there 
near them; every one knew that after it left, 
even with land on both sides, sometimes quite 
near, they would henceforth be as much cut off 
as though the Atlantic rolled about them. 

The river broadened and the gradually reced- 
ing coasts looked more and more bleak and deso- 
late. The two young people, the one with an old 
head on young shoulders, the other with a young 
head on older shoulders sat out in a tearing wind 
and tried to concoct the two letters that were to 
be put away for emergency. 

Passengers were galloping around the deck 
before and behind them, one could not dignify 
such a mad rush with the name promenade, but 
it did not disturb them, and when it was finished 
she set her mind to work out a scheme whereby 
she could get a needle and thread to sew them in 


158 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


with; she had decided that pinning would not 
do at all. 

^‘Do you see that old lady over there, rather 
poor looking?’’ he asked. 

Following the direction she saw the thick-set 
English-woman who had come from Alberta and 
sat opposite her at table. She sat looking lonely 
enough, pale, and seeming worried. 

‘‘You could do a charitable act and get some 
help too by getting acquainted with her. I am 
sure she has needles, and maybe knitting 
needles, also, if you should want any; she is by 
herself and wont gabble.” 

Anne had felt sorry for the old lady for no 
one ever talked to her, but her caution had kept 
her from being social. They decided that the 
old lady had no steamer chair, for she never 
sat in one, always finding some of the ship ’s in- 
convenient furniture to sit upon. With a little 
tact they might manage a fair exchange of 
favors. Anne waited patiently for an oppor- 
tunity, and one evening found the old lady sit- 
ting on the divan in the library, alone and 
forlorn. She wandered in, apparently aimless, 
and the old lady thinking Anne was lonely spoke 
to her and after awhile Anne sat beside her and 
let her talk, wondering all the time how she 
could bring up the subject of needle and thread. 

Suddenly she thought of a rent in her coat 
and wished she had a needle. 

“Bless your ’earti I will sew hit for you,” 
said this kind person; but that was not just 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


159 


what Anne wanted. 

“If yon would please let me take one to my 
cabin I will return it to you. There were other 
things that I wanted to sew.’^ 

“Land sakes! you wouldn’t be crossing the 
ocean alone!” asked the old lady with considera- 
ble curiosity. 

“The lady who is with me is in her berth ill,” 
said Anne not caring to say much about her- 
self. 

“I’ll get hit now,” said this lady who did not 
seem so old when roused out of her despondency. 
She returned with the precious loan which Anne 
took, then found a place where she could work 
undisturbed. 

On the following morning every one was sur- 
prised to still find lonely shores on both sides 
though now far away, with an occasional island 
or protruding neck of land reaching out for 
their inspection. 

It is nearly a thousand miles from Quebec to 
the open water but the ship had a tremendous 
tide to reckon with and a channel that precluded 
haste. 

The weather was perfect on that last day in 
the river. 

Anne appeared alone at breakfast as usual, 
and there was no one at table but the officer, 
whom she liked as he did not stare at her and 
make silly remarks as some others did. 

“Well now; we are a brave little girl; never 
ill yet, eh?^^ 


160 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


“No sir/^ answered Anne after having said 
her grace standing, as she always did. 

‘ ^ Is your mamma ill 1 1 have not seen her since 
yesterday at breakfast. ’ ’ 

“My mamma is dead.’’ she answered simply. 
She was getting tired of this subject. 

“Your aunt, I suppose!” he said continuing 
his breakfast after an expression of sympathy. 

“I have not the honor of her acquaintance,” 
said she somewhat loftily. “ I do not even know 
her name.” 

“You are not traveling alone!” he asked lay- 
ing down his knife and fork, a certain sign of 
interest. 

“I wouldn’t be traveling at all if I could help 
it,” she said desperately, determined not to tell 
everything at once if she had to unfold all her 
story; long practice had brought out different 
phases, and also changed her own attitude. 

He leaned back in his chair ; the surveyor had 
come in with her friend and they were approach- 
ing the table. 

“Is any one compelling you against your will, 
any one who has no right!” he spoke with 
authority now. 

“She stole me away from my aunt’s way out 
west, in an automobile ; I was in church and came 
out with her to get her a drink of water. That 
is why I have only these clothes. She wanted to 
buy me some but I would not take them from 
strangers. She thinks she is taking me to my 
grandfather, but I haven’t any,” 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 161 

He looked at the two young men with amaze- 
ment on his countenance. 

“Why didnT you appeal to some one for 

helpr’ 

Then she explained to him how it was. 

The surveyor spoke. 

‘ ‘ My counsel lives in the place where her sup- 
posed grandfather also lives. I intend to com- 
municate with him. ’ ’ 

“Well, well, we must look into this.’’ 

But the woman was in no shape to be dis- 
turbed, and Anne became quite a popular person, 
though it was agreed among those who knew 
her story not to spread it among the passengers, 
no one could tell what harm such a course might 
do the child. There might be some unscrupulous 
persons among them. And as to her situation, 
enough influential persons were now acquainted 
with it to bring it to a satisfactory close. 

Meanwhile, it must not be supposed that Anne 
had left the woman who had given her so much 
trouble, to the tender mercies of the stewardess. 
Two or three times every day she had charitably 
visited the cabin, and with dignity and sweet- 
ness saw that she had everything that she 
needed. Out of the little energy she had left, 
the woman looked at her in silent wonder, and 
more especially at night when, after everything 
was attended to, Anne knelt on the floor and 
said her prayers before snuggling up on the 
divan which she had chosen instead of the upper 
berth so that she would be handy in case she 


162 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


was needed; so, when on deck, her conscience 
was clear as to enjoying herself. 

The old lady had constituted herself as a 
sort of chaperone with unlimited privileges in 
the other steamer chair which she enjoyed to 
the utmost, the boy and his mentor, the sur- 
veyor, one or the other were nearly always near 
and the officer and the captain kept an eye on 
her. 

Many a pleasant visit they had on the breezy 
deck. 

The old lady was reminiscent of Alberta, that 
big newly discovered wilderness, where she had 
been on a farm with her daughter and son-in- 
law for four dreary years, the nearest of the 
most infrequent neighbors, four miles away. 
She told in her strong English brogue with 
Cockney proclivities, about the loneliness of that 
isolated home where the snow piled up over 
the window sills sometimes in winter, and the 
wolves came howling almost to the door, crazy 
for food. How her daughter’s mind gradually 
began to unsettle until there was nothing to be 
done but to abandon the farm that represented 
so much heart-breaking work, selling being im- 
possible in that wilderness ; leaving all the im- 
provements for some future squatter who would 
profit by it, and then they went to a more settled 
district to begin over, while the old lady re- 
turned to England where she could have some 
^‘comfuts” as she expressed it. Nothing could 
persuade her that all America was not like that 
deserted place. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


163 


The boy talked a great deal about the work 
done by the men under the surveyor, where they 
were blazing the way for the railroad up in 
the wilds of Ontario where probably no other 
human feet had trodden. There were two com- 
panies of surveyors, civil engineers and work- 
emn ; the first cutting down trees on the.way sur- 
veyed making rafts for portage over the streams, 
and leaving a rough sort of path for the second 
party. Many a hill they traveled, many a stream 
crossed. He was with the first lot of men and 
had all the adventure of the project, but he 
told with enthusiasm of the difficulties en- 
countered and surmounted as though he had 
been on a pleasure jaunt. Their tents at night 
were enlivened by song and speech and even 
dance, but he acknowledged that it was deadly 
lonely sometimes, especially on Sundays. One 
of their party died quite suddenly and they had 
to bury him in the wilderness, far from home and 
friends where the wolves would howl over his 
grave and wild animals prowl about his resting 
place. They all felt very serious and depressed 
for days, he said. 

‘^Did you say any prayers over himU^ Anne 
asked. 

‘‘One of the boys said some prayers,’’ he 
answered with seriousness as the scene rose 
before him. “It is lonesome out in those primi- 
tive woods and on those trackless plains, but 
I like it and will be glad to go back when I 
have my business off my hands. I am going 


164 AN UNWII^UNG TRAVELER 

back to get some money that belongs to me, yon 
know. ’ ’ 

^ ‘ Oh yes, you said something about it. What 
are all those white spots at the foot of the moun- 
tains near the water T’ she asked. 

“Those are the little homes of the Saint 
Lawrence fishermen; fishing is about the only 
trade here but it amounts to a great sum in a 
year.’’ 

“Then it must have been the lights in those 
little houses that we saw twinkling last night. ’ ’ 

“Now we are approaching the land of the 
aborigines of Labrador, who painted themselves 
with red ochre whence comes the term ‘ ‘ red in- 
dians;” the Beoths, who are now supposed to 
be extinct,” said Mr. Anderson who had just 
seated himself. “There were Moravian settle- 
ments there since 1600 , and many Catholic mis- 
sionaries have spent themselves trying to chris- 
tianize the indians throughout that wild place 
with more or less success, but it was usually the 
indians who survived. There are yet some Mon- 
taignais and Micmacs in there. The settlers are 
now French and Indian to Hamilton River and 
east of that they are all English. The French 
always got on pretty well with the Indians.” 

“Perhaps early tomorrow we will have the 
shores of Newfoundland and Labrador close 
upon us as we go through the channel to the 
ocean,” said the boy. 

“Isn’t it lonesome looking f those bleak moun- 
tains rearing up from the water with nothing 


AN UNWILLING traveler 


165 


on ’em but a few scrubs of trees,” said tbe 
homesick old lady. 

^‘They are pretty good sized trees when you 
get up to them,” said the surveyor. 

saw some patches of wheat or something 
way up on top of the mountain yesterday, ’ ’ said 
Anne. 

^‘Yes, and once in a while they can raise a 
few hardy vegetables.” 

The captain and the officer came up and 
stopped before the group. 

After a little talk the officer said, 

‘‘Anderson, you may bring the little girl 
around to the office in a little while, then you 
can take her over the parts of the steamer that 
she has not seen.” 

Perhaps the old lady f^lt slighted at not be- 
ing included in the invitation ; she did not under- 
stand that it was to be an important conference. 

In the office the captain put down a few facts 
in the journal he rescued from among the charts 
■and other ship paraphernalia. It was the same 
story that Anne was by this time so weary of 
telling. But afterward the surveyor took her 
on a tour through the first cabin. She admired 
its beautiful light wood fittings and old rose 
cushions and damask and soft carpets; the 
flowers on the tables, the glittering table ser- 
vice and fine napery. ^ The grand piano had its 
special share of attention ; but she thought while 
admiring it all — ^we have some flowers and beau- 
tiful things in our place, and was not disturbed 


1G6 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


by the contrast though she had thought ever 
since they came aboard that there was nothing 
better there than their second cabin, so it was a 
surprise. They had concerts on their good piano 
and musicians who could play it, and the pas- 
sengers in their section enjoyed it very much. 
They did not escape some singing more vigorous 
than artistic. And when the library was de- 
serted and the Gardens^’ flagged, Anne went 
shyly to the piano and played some of the good 
musio she knew, and soon an appreciative audi- 
ence of which she was unconscious had heads 
through the windows, disappearing when she 
finished. 

They passed an iceberg and the boy called her 
to see it, reminding her that they were only 
about four hundred miles from the coast of 
Greenland. 

When they came out on deck one evening they 
saw some of the Irish fishing fleet anchored otf 
the north coast of Ireland round which they were 
to skirt. The boats looked like black bats dip- 
ping the water ; they were to pass Malin head, 
the first lighthouse they were to see, late in the 
evening, and they decided that they could not 
miss it, so after telling her sick companion the 
reason of the delay in retiring, and the old 
lady acting as chaperone, they waited until the 
glittering light came in sight and kept their eyes 
upon it until it too was swallowed in darkness. 

The steamer came down to Liverpool through 
the Irish channel during the night and it was a 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


167 


clear cool morning wlien they landed. 

The baggage, which now was ‘‘ luggage came 
down the long chutes on the after deck and down 
the stairway that was convenient to the forward 
deck before the passengers were allowed to go ; 
this plan enabling the customs officers to do 
their sorting before the great rush came. Some- 
times the multitude of valises, trunks and suit- 
cases made a jam on the chutes, and if a long 
pole did not release them a deck hand risked 
his life down there. 

It seemed a very long time before they were 
allowed to go down the covered way leading to 
the wharf. 

The woman had scarcely recovered and was 
pale and spiritless and did not seem to have her 
wits about her; she forgot that her trunk was 
bonded through to London and with Anne and 
one of the officers she went up and down the long 
lanes and avenues of luggage in the custom 
house helped more or less by the well meaning 
officials until one of them suggested that per- 
haps it was bonded through, in which case it 
was on the platform waiting for her indentifica- 
tion. 

So it proved; the platform was deserted, all 
the passengers in the best seats in the cunning 
white and gilt train that had doors all the way 
down the sides instead of at both ends; and 
the engineer was tooting warnings to them that 
this train must be gotten off to London and was 
impatient waiting for slow passengers ; so they 


168 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Lad to get on board witliont getting the lunch 
they had expected to snatch afer securing their 
places. At one o^clock their steamer special 
started on its swift race to the great city with- 
out stop. 

There was a dining car on the train, they 
found after a time, that let in as many people 
as the tables would accommodate at one time 
after which the doors were locked until it was 
the pleasure of the guests to leave again. The 
woman asked Anne to go and have a cup of tea 
sent to her and stay and eat something herself ; 
the door was just opening and closing for the 
last time, and the individual at the door an- 
nounced that no more food was to be had, doom- 
ing Anne, at least, to a good appetite when 
reaching London, and the other was disap- 
pointed about the tea, not feeling strong. 

Anne made the invalid comfortable with her 
own and the other’s steamer rug, in the stiff 
uncomfortable seat and set herself to get a 
little pleasure out of the flying scenery and won- 
dering what was waiting for her at the end of 
the journey, but not worrying much. 

The trim rural gardens and picturesque 
hedges flew past in bewildering lines ; she could 
make out ‘‘Crewe, Harrow” and a few other 
names on the neat stations that seemed to be 
scudding past. There were many clumps of 
pretty red flowers growing along the track near 
the hedges, but the scenery in general resolved 
itself into an ensemble of green, brown and grey. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


169 


with little detail, which changed to houses and 
houses as they came in sight of the chimney-pots 
of London. 


Chapteb XV. 

They arrived at Euston station a little before 
four 0 ^clock and trailed down the platform with 
the crowd to the last car labelled ‘ ‘ luggage van ^ ^ 
where men were throwing off pieces of personal 
belongings with utter unconcern as to their 
ownership ; any one said, ‘ ‘ this is mine ^ ^ or ‘ ‘ that 
is mine’^ and the piece was dragged off to a 
separated pile and a little distance away were 
shabby men with cabs and fingers itching to 
give the luggage a further mauling. It seemed 
strange that no one had anything to show for 
it; there was a standing claim that little was 
ever lost which was a kind of recommendation 
for travelers in general. One of the shabby 
gentlemen was selected to take the trunk and 
the two people, and they clattered through that 
part of London, Northwest, known as Bohemia, 
where artists and so many people out of the 
ordinary live, with the trunk and Anne’s new 
suit-case on top of the cab. 

The little girl ’s eyes were everywhere as they 
skirted Eegent’s Park, Albert Eoad and Avenue 
Eoad to near the Marlborough Station of the 
underground railway, in the delightful hazy air 
of that balmy day. 

They stopped before a very plain, four story 
brick building with a little shop under it where 
small articles of wear were unostentatiously dis- 
played in the windows. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


171 


The woman lifted the knocker several times 
while the cab waited. Behind it had run, all 
the way from Euston, a poor middle-aged man 
in cap and blouse who hoped for a chance to 
carry the luggage up stairs, which he did for 
a six-pence, when a dark red cheeked woman 
had opened the door for them. 

There were alfectionate yet quiet greetings; 
they kissed each other and Anne thought they 
must be sisters. 

They climbed two flights of stairs and emerged 
out of the twilight of the hall into a very large 
room with three large front windows. A neat 
bookcase, evidently the handwork of an in- 
dustrious person, well filled with choice litera- 
ture, nearly occupied the whole of one side of 
the room; a beautiful piano; well selected pic- 
tures on the walls; a lot of chairs, one, a rock- 
ing chair, which showed some American tastes ; 
a large dining table made by the same ingenious 
hands and which could be taken apart and 
packed into a very small compass ; all indicated 
that humble resources and good taste were pos- 
sessed by the occupants. 

Opening into this room at the back, was a 
smaller room; and the apartment had the ad- 
dition of a sleeping room on the floor above. 
The back room was an utility room and served 
many purposes in the restricted menage. 

The other person seemed to know all about 
Anne and gave her a long, absorbed, and evi- 
dently satisfactory scrutiny, for she came to 


172 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


her, put her arm over Ajme’s shoulder and said, 

‘‘You poor lassie, so you ^ave come ’ome at 
last; are ye gladT’ 

Anne was very near to being cross ; she was 
very tired and hungry, so she did not answer at 
once; it would do no good to speak out her 
mind to this woman who seemed to mean well. 
Her companion saved her the effort. 

“She was more than good to me on board 
ship when I was so ill; I was only up one day, 
but I surely had a hard time with her before 
that. She is a nice little girl anyway, however 
it comes out, and you know I only did what I 
was told to do,^’ the last was addressed to Anne 
who stood quietly, pale and homesick. 

“Hester dear, have you a cup of tea for us? 
we have not had bite or sup since morning, we 
did not have time. ’ ^ 

“Oh, and you ill too! Take off your things 
and lie on the couch and be comfortable, and 
the little girl can rock while I get a bite. I know 
all Americans like to rock,^^ and with a most 
pleasant way about her she pulled the rocking 
chair forward for Anne, who slowly unfastened 
her wraps and sat down on the edge of the chair 
in an expectant attitude. 

“Does that old gentleman live here? for if he 
does I want to see him at once,’^ she said after 
taking a look around the room. 

“What old gentleman, dearie?^’ asked the 
new person. 

“She means Mr, Ashley, her grandfather.’^ 


AN UNWIL.UNG TRAVELER 


173 


‘‘No, I do not mean my grandfather for I have 
none living. I mean the man who paid to have 
me stolen from my home, ’ ’ now her lip quivered 
and tears plashed down. 

“You poor lamb,’’ said the person, kneeling 
in front of her and wiping her tears away. 
Evidently, this sister would not have answered 
at all for Scotland Yard or any other yard that 
hired detectives. She turned in curiosity to her 
sister, “Then she did not want to come?” 

“I should say not! I am worn out with it all, 
but I cannot say that I blame her, feeling as 
she does about it.” 

“We will have some tea first,” which seemed 
a prelude to an intention to hear more of it, 
but for some reason that subject was mentioned 
no more that evening, excepting to tell her that 
the old gentleman was not there. 

Over the kippered herring and coffee the next 
morning she demanded what was to be done. 

“For I must know,” she said with great de- 
cision. 

“Well, dear, we are a little early and will 
have to stay here for three days, perhaps four, 
until Mr. Ashley returns to his country house, 
on the Isle of Wight, where I had orders to 
bring you. He has a number of country houses, 
but he prefers that one I cannot say why, as it 
is the smallest of them. We will amuse you as 
best we can.” 

“But I do not want to be amused. I want 
it over with so that I can go back to dear aunt 


174 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Elizabeth/’ even so soon her far^ away home 
seemed like a fleeting dream, and it frightened 
her for fear it should escape her altogether. 

“Now dear, I know you will not give me 
trouble until I give you over into their hands. 
I did it because that is the way I have to earn 
my living and help at home. I never do any 
dishonest jobs ; it seemed all right to me, though 
I am beginning to have my doubts about your 
case, myself. So, like a dear, be patient a few 
days, and dont try to run away.” 

“Where would I run in London with no money 
or friends?” then flashed through her mind the 
gentleman in the Isle of Wight who was the 
counsel of the surveyor. Waiting was the only 
thing to be done. 

It was some comfort that before she had 
parted with her steamer friends they had spoken 
of looking her up in the Isle of Wight, caution- 
ing her to be brave and wise like a good little 
girl. Yes, by all means, that was the only thing 
to do. 

“There are to be four kings and queens in 
London today,” said the sister, “perhaps we 
shall go, ’ ’ she was trying Anne ’s mood. 

That was something to see four kings and 
queens ; the only kings and queens she had ever 
seen were the gay ones on the cards they had at 
uncle Matthew’s, which did not count. 

Back of this London apartment were the bar- 
racks of some of the king’s royal artillery, who 
were now getting ready for the reception of Em- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


175 


peror William of Germany and his Empress into 
the city. They were to arrive on the noon train 
at Paddington station from Windsor where he 
had been hunting with the English king. The 
artillery hoys were in their dress uniform ; short 
black jackets, to the waist line, with a point 
front and back, heavily embroidered with gold 
braid, Blucher boots, and helmet hats with black 
plumes. 

The emperor was to be received at the Guild- 
hall, and along the route of about four miles 
the streets were bordered with English military 
companies, in all manner and fashion of gorge- 
ous uniforms. 

When they walked out to London street, the 
nearest place on which the procession passed, 
there was a great crowd everywhere, and win- 
dows were full of heads at so much a head. They 
found a very good place on the steps of an un- 
occupied dwelling next to the Norfolk hotel, 
a small place that was so exclusive that no one 
was allowed to stand in front of it. The historic 
Horse Guard ahorse with their shining coats 
of mail were very handsome; some of the sol- 
diers had on enormous beavers over a foot high 
that looked warm. 

King Edward and Queen Alexandra did not 
meet the emperor at the station but at the Guild- 
hall ; all the other members of the royal family 
were there ; King Haakon of Norway with Queen 
Maude; King Alfonso and Queen Victoria of 
Spain, and many highnesses afforded a right 
royal reception. 


176 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Emperor William looked pale and worried, 
but the Empress appeared delighted and beamed 
upon the people. They said that the Emperor 
was very gracious as he passed through Oxford 
street. That must have been just after the 
police had succeded in turning the lines of about 
ten thousand socialists and unemployed persons 
who had spent several weeks trying to get up 
a demonstration on Tower Hill for the avowed 
purpose of scaring the Emperor. The mob how- 
ever was edged out of the way by the police and 
the royalties passed on. 

Around where they stood was a good-natured 
but not very hearty crowd, and they took the 
royal display quite as placidly as the royalties 
took them. There was much slovenly poverty in 
that assemblage ; dirty women with dirtj^ chil- 
dren, but they enjoyed it as much as any one 
and enlivened the wait with a run of brilliant 
comments, as frank and honest as the best that 
English folk can do, which is saying much. 

Anne was now given a little pleasant liberty ; 
they sent her next day, once to the bake shop, 
and once to post a letter at the sub-station near 
by. The last trip afforded an unexpectedly easy 
opportunity to post the first English letter, and 
with a sigh of relief she dropped it into the box. 
It was the first connection established between 
her in England and her loved ones at home. She 
now learned about the six-pence the tuppence 
and the ha ’penny and made an effort to fix this 
new information in her mind. Coming home she 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER m 

could hear a train roaring along very near but 
could see none. 

The next day she had her first ride on the top 
of an omnibus ; going with the sister to see her 
mother-in-law. They passed through Hampstead 
and had glimpses of Parliament Hill, and Prim- 
rose Hill with the king’s sheep grazing on it. 

The mother-in-law had a strong sweet face and 
looked motherly, but there was a kind of snap in 
it that made one feel the fires that were banked 
behind it. The family had a whole big house, 
but there was quite a crowd of sons and daugh- 
ters-in-law and an adopted daughter who had a 
fine, crisp, pure English accent and was a voluble 
talker. 

One of the daughters-in-law, a nice, lively girl, 
had the rich Coster dialect in perfection ; it was 
so interesting to Anne that she changed her seat 
to be near her and hear her talk. 

The adopted daughter was a physical culture 
teacher among the poorer classes, and in several 
workhouses, educated for this purpose, and paid 
by a society; she had a number of decorations 
for her work and invited Anne to Islington some 
day to see her class of girls in the work-house 
there. Anne thought she should like it. 

There was a garden back of the house, a gar- 
den that could b^e duplicated many times in any 
large city; dusty, inclined to grass in some 
parts, to baldness in others. There was a peach 
tree trained on the brick side wall, which they 
said bore fine fruit in peach time; a pear tree 


178 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


had reached an ambitious height not to be ex- 
pected in a city tree and still bore a specimen of 
last year ^s fruit as though reluctant to part with 
it. The strong green ivy was everywhere, the 
kind that makes beauty spots of so many de- 
cayed places in England. 

At one side of the garden was a miniature 
castle built up on rocks with stairways cut in 
imitation stone and ornamental grounds, but it 
was artificial and not valued much by these 
lovers of nature. It had been made at great 
pains, by a former resident, an Italian, and they 
had left it, not willing to destroy the patient 
work. 

There were wild plants and ferns in pro- 
fusion, brought from woods on their frequent 
walks. Frances, the eldest daughter, a dark, 
very bitter looking girl, discontent covering her 
like a pall, came in at tea time and said she had 
addressed a crowd in the street, very likely try- 
ing to make them as discontented as she was or 
seemed to be. 

Anne gleaned a jumble of ideas about these 
people; they evidently wanted every one to be 
happy and comfortable, but succeeded in upset- 
ting everything and left humanity clinging to 
straws. 

Anne had always been taught to bear afflic- 
tions patiently, and she could not understand the 
prevailing tone of resentment against depriva- 
tions of any kind, she had not yet learned what 
a topsy-turvey being a socialist can be. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


179 


Frances had great artistic talent; the house 
was brilliant with her beautiful paintings, really 
meritorious; some of them had nearly reached 
the line in the Academy exhibits, but like many 
another good artist she lacked rich and influ- 
ential friends to buy a few pieces of her work 
and so make the rest popular ; she unwisely, how- 
ever, loaded the blame upon everything and 
everybody. The fact that she was forced to 
make designs for a draper on Oxford street was 
a use of her artistic accomplishments that was 
gall and wormwood to her, undisciplined as she 
was, and not in the least grateful for that op- 
portunity to earn her bread. 

They finished the evening in the adopted 
daughter's cosy room; it had a piano and many 
of Frances ’ paintings. Even more members of 
the family came in after tea, and they had an 
evening of song in parts, all singing musically 
with feeling and taste. Anne was charmed, and 
if they had known it, that was a great compli- 
ment. She still held aloof, though very polite, 
and they paid her quite affectionate homage. 

When they came home, still on top of the omni- 
bus, though it was dark, it came to Anne that 
she had not seen any street cars. A big city 
without street cars criss-crossing every way 
was strange, and she ventured to express her 
wonder to the sister, who told her that there 
were many lines in certain localities and some 
quite near where they were now passing but not 
convenient for them to use when they went 
traveling about from their home in Bohemia. 


Chaptee XVI. 


^‘The child must be very uncomfortable in 
her warm clothes, and the trees all leaved out,’’ 
said the sister one bright day. 

‘‘Well, I took her to a drapers in Buffalo, 
and gave an order to the clerk to fit her out 
as a gentleman’s grand-daughter should be, as 
Mr. Ashley bade me to do, and the little minx 
would have none of it; she simply sat before 
both of us with those bright eyes flashing and 
countermanded the order, and the Duchess of 
Norfolk could not have done it more grandly; 
she would have none of his gifts; she would 
only accept some linen if she was allowed to 
pay for it out of her allowance; she has a bit, 
I believe. I am sure there must be a mistake 
about her though I have nothing to prove it. ’ ’ 

Anne was in the upper room buried in the 
“Old curiosity Shop” when the sister ran up 
stairs. 

“Come down, Miss, there is something doing 
in the street that you would like to see ; hurry, 
or you will miss it.” 

Anne went down stairs on wings ; she trusted 
this person implicitly. 

They had all the windows up, and each had 
a fine view of Emperor William and a few at- 
tendants, who had honored the marine painter, 
Martino, who had his studio just across the 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


181 


street; the emperor wished to examine his 
paintings. 

^ Chevalier Martino had been a naval officer in 
his younger days and had in the center of his 
front yard a full-rigged masthead and fixed to 
the halyard was the flag of an admiral of the 
fleet. 

^ He had been informed of the honor of the 
visit, and prepared a surprise for the emperor 
as he entered the gate, by asking for the com- 
mand to ‘^by the flag.^’ 

‘ ^ Brava ! ’ ^ exclaimed the emperor ; whereupon 
the flag was run up and broken at the masthead. 
The crowd about the gate cheered heartily. 

Before visiting this studio Emperor William 
had paid a long visit to the studio of Sir Law- 
rence Alma Tadema and his artist wife around 
the corner in Grove End Eoad. He was picking 
up ideas to furnish his palace in the Isle of 
Corfu, which he had recently purchased from 
the empress of Austria and wished to be most 
artistic. He praised Lady Alma Tadema ’s 
beautiful studio gotten up in workmanship and 
furnishings of the seventeenth century and told 
her he had bought one of her pictures the year 
before which he had hung in his country house. 

The next day was a lovely bright one and 
they decided to go to Islington to see the class 
of girls in the workhouse. Anne was to accom- 
pany the sister to her mother-in-law’s and leave 
her there while she went on with Alice. 

They had a pleasant walk through Queen’s 


182 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Eoad and Wadham Gardens, the last a beauti- 
ful crooked residential district with curious 
hedges that in some places almost covered the 
whole front yard, close clipped and green, slop- 
ing up from the paving to the window sills. 

They were going by a different route to take 
the omnibus at the Eton hotel. London omni- 
buses always seem to have their stations at 
drinking places, and no matter how tee-total a 
passenger might be he has to stand idly in 
front of one of these social allurements wait- 
ing for his conveyances, if he wishes to make 
use of them. 

They climbed to the top seats and bowled 
merrily along advertising soap, condensed milk 
and the latest plays in big bright letters; pry- 
ing into open windows and gardens shut in from 
the street by high walls, and then Anne remem- 
bered about the poor conductor on the Buffalo 
street car and the outside seats that her com- 
panion was looking for ; through Kentish Town 
and getting off at the big building that had Brit- 
tania on it in large letters, and walking up Cam- 
den Road. 

The mother-in-law opened the door limping 
a little from rheumatism. Alice was ready and 
a-top of another omnibus they bowled along 
Camden Road, a fine wide street with real street 
cars or trams as the English call them running 
through the whole length. They passed Hollo- 
way prison, the principal one of London; the 
scenes of Islington were a little different from 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


183 


the ones they left behind; it was higher, and 
the air was fresh. They had a very near view 
of the ‘The Angel of Islington’ so famous in 
story whose only angelic attribute is its name, 
as it is a “public house,” as the small hotels 
are called, consisting chiefly of an attractive 
bar. 

The workhouse was not prepossessing as 
might be expected. There were shoals of boys 
playing in the yard, with wide, clean white col- 
lars. 

Alice retired to put on her gymnasium suit, 
leaving Anne with the pleasant matron. She 
returned dressed in a short suit and soft shoes 
and with her short curly hair looked like a boy. 

About forty girls were assembled in a room 
that had a cement floor; the girls clad in red 
and blue suits and canvas shoes. They showed 
great interest in the work and went through 
many evolutions and figures very correctly and 
gracefully. Their work has quite efficient for 
the short time they had been practicing. They 
went through an Irish jig, a Morris dance, a 
minuet and other things besides the preliminary 
exercises. Their bodies and feet flexible and 
nimble. 

After the class work was finished two stand- 
ards set with pegs and weighted were placed 
about four feet apart and a line weighted at 
both ends was laid across the pegs on the far 
side so that the lightest touch of the jumpers 
would knock it off the pegs, doing away with 
the possibility of accidents. 


184 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


The pegs were first placed about eighteen in- 
ches from the floor the big girls heading the 
line. Their movements in jumping were inter- 
esting ; the string was raised a couple of inches 
at a time until the little girls had to drop out 
one by one. There were four who jumped very 
easily and gracefully. One of the older girls, 
who looked to be about thirteen years old took 
the three foot-eight jump with her legs doubled 
under her and to one side like a boy. The best 
one who was fourteen, took every one, the last 
four feet high, straight up in the air like a 
rocket, coming down on her toes with legs 
straight and close together; she was like a 
feather. 

They all enjoyed it very much, it was a little 
bright color in their monotonous lives. 

They were much interested in Anne, and as 
they dropped out of the line some came and sat 
near her with ingratiating smiles gazing at the 
stranger. 

The matron said afterward that her great 
punishment when it was called for, was to de- 
prive them of the lesson, and said also that they 
had improved mentally and physically under the 
exercise and recreation it afforded. The boys 
had the benefit of the work through a tutor 
there who took the lessons for that purpose. 

While Alice was donning her street costume, 
the matron took Anne through the building. 
Everything was clean and convenient, and a big 
pot of stew was already simmering in the 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


185 


kitchen for the children ’s dinner. She said there 
were over fonr hundred children in the house, 
who had no one to look after them, or whose 
parents were too poor to keep them, or sadder 
still whose parents were in prison. 

The children seemed contented; Anne had 
been much amused just after they had left the 
big room where the class was held, to see seven 
or eight boys invade it with scrubbing brushes 
and pails of hot water and fall to work in a 
line in a far corner, as though there was no one 
around to look at them; they went at it with a 
rush and swing that told of some experience 
in that work. 

They took lunch at Alice’s house and went 
home by a still different way, by omnibus around 
Albert Road. 

To St. John’s Wood station, along the foot 
of Primrose Hill to Regent’s Park where they 
got down and explored its green and attractive 
precincts. The sister wanted to see the old- 
fashioned flower garden, a large place devoted 
to the flowers one finds in so many home gardens 
everywhere ; not many of them were in blossom 
yet but the grass was green and many nurses 
were there with babies who had a rare time 
rolling about. 

One of the sons from Camden came over in 
the evening with his wife, the Coster lady; he 
went immediately to the piano and played Men- 
delsohn and some dreamy things. While they 
were at table having tea and enjoying the cran- 
berries they brought with them he got up and 


186 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


went to the piano and played the version of 
‘^Men of Harlech^’ that he had heard a Welsh 
choir sing recently, which departed from the 
popular version, dwelling on the first high note 
for several beats, and there were other slight 
differences ; which was of interest because they 
claimed it to be the true version. 

When they heard that Anne could play, she, 
also, must contribute to the entertainment, and 
though she did not feel inclined, their gentle 
persistence overcame her reluctance; she ac- 
quitted herself very well and they were quite 
surprised at her talent, and gave her very sin- 
cere and encouraging praise. 

’Ave you taken ’er hout to ’ampstead 
’eath,’’ the Coster lady asked with her inimita- 
ble English. 

‘‘Why dear me, the child has only been here 
two days,’^ said the sister. 

“Why can we not go tomorrow and take a 
bite to eat and stay awhile, she may not be 
here another day and it is so pretty there, said 
the brother. 

Anne had an instinctive feeling that they were 
preparing to make a final parting from her when 
she departed for the Isle of Wight, which they 
knew to be the case, and though there was a 
semblance of a reason in her mind, she felt sor- 
ry, for their kindness to her, and affection for 
each other, had been very grateful after the 
dry days that had gone before, and she was 
dreading another change. 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVEIvER 


187 


They had the outing at Hampstead Heath, that 
large section of most rustic scenery amid the 
smoke and noise of the great city. Time was not 
very long gone when those green knolls and 
quiet fields were way out from London proper ; 
they furnished seclusion for the vandals who 
were responsible for many disturbing incidents 
in London ’s history. The Gordon riots were 
planned here ; Dickens draws some graphic pic- 
tures in ^‘Barnaby Rudge,’’ of their lawlessness 
and aptness in planning trouble of the most 
inexcusable kind; they passed the Gordon house 
on their way to the Heath. They invaded Jack- 
straws Castle and Spanish Inn both connected 
with that odious time. 

None of the many ramblers on the Heath were 
thinking of these things, however ; they were en- 
gaged in playing cricket, diabolo. La Crosse, 
hockey and other games and were bent on mak- 
ing the most of their holiday. Couples lunched 
and, it must be confessed, ‘‘spooned’’ to an out- 
rageous extent ; when they tried to find a place 
where such a large party could lunch in comfort 
they were confronted everywhere by these 
ubiquitous lovers, whose scowls and most un- 
friendly aspect told them too plainly that they 
were bold intruders. They showed considera- 
tion for so many of these unreasonable people, 
and there seemed to be no place where they 
were not, that at last they encamped in a sylvan 
spot and opened their hamper oblivious of dark 
looks from four couples who turned their backs 


188 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


on the ^‘heartless things’^ as one of them said. 
There seems to be no other place for London’s 
lower classes to do their courting, if they wish 
to keep their places at the houses where they 
serve, whose employers take no thought that 
these servants are human and prone to court 
and marry like themselves. 

^ Anne was highly amused, and laughed out- 
right so many times that it became contagious, 
and English wit and humor began to fly about, 
until the lovers in self-defense had to leave the 
field to the invaders. 

At the house a letter had come that afternoon 
from the Isle of Wight and Anne was told when 
they returned that tomorrow they would de- 
part for the Isle of Wight, that dreaded place. 

‘‘And dear,” said the woman coaxingly, 
“wouldn’t you let me buy you a nice spring 
frock to appear in? May be they will think 
that I did not do my duty toward you.” 

“Well, you know,” said Anne with great de- 
liberation because of the deep feeling back of 
it, “it does not matter at all to me what they 
think. I want to see them as soon as possible 
and come away again. My clothes are good 
enough and I am in debt now for things that I 
need not have bought if they had left me at 
home.” 

‘ ‘ The women glanced at each other with doubt 
in their faces as to the ease of getting away 
after such pains had been taken to capture her. 

“Do you know,” said the woman to her 


UNWII.UNG TRAVEI.ER 189 


sister when they were alone, believe the old 
gentleman would keep her even if he found that 
she was not his grand-daughter, especially after 
he sees her. Isn’t she a born lady! and so 
high spirited.” 


Chaptee XVII. 


They took the road from Victoria station, 
that runs through the lovely hills of Sussex to 
Portsmouth, a port that fronts Spithead, the 
great naval roadstead as that part of the Solent 
is called; the channel fleet lies waiting here 
always, for the trouble that comes at last. 

A real little sea-going ship was ready to take 
them on a rough four mile trip across to Eyde, 
the most important city in the Isle of Wight. 
As they had had no time for lunch they went be- 
low to the refreshment room and drank coffee 
and ate fine English plum cake while watching 
the waves rolling past the portholes which were 
closed as the refreshment room was below the 
water line. 

On deck the woman pointed out the buoy 
sunk in the channel to commemorate the going 
down of the Eoyal George in 1782 with one 
thousand souls on board. 

Many of those washed ashore here were buried 
where the mansions of the Esplanade and 
Strand are now built. From the long pier there 
is a fine view of Eyde ranged up in tiers on 
the high ground, and a glimpse of Osborne 
House, one of Queen Victoria’s favorite resi- 
dences, not far away, may be caught before 
boarding the train. 

They had tickets to Ventnor, from which they 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


191 


had to return to Wroxall, their destination, one 
of the vagaries of traveling in the Isle. 

One of England’s historiographers says that 
while England is a miniature of Europe, the 
Isle of Wight is a miniature of England, and 
that there is no variety of English scenery that 
does not find itself there worthily represented. 
The peaceful scenes of the northern coast and 
the jutting headlands of the south coast, the 
IVhite chalk cliffs, dipping their ancient feet in 
a sea as blue as the sky they seem to rest 
against, and being often likened to Wedgewood 
ware; the picturesque stone houses often 
thatched with hay; the castles of small scale, 
the roses and geraniums growing wild, the 
ancient and staWe architecture, reminders of 
the days when the monks, consummate masters 
of the building art, held sway here and reared 
edifices to last; the very temperate climate, re- 
markable considering the latitude, the lovely 
walks and drives, the trim hedges of hawthorne 
and holly; the quiet unobtrusive inhabitants, 
make it a delightful resort for the weary 
traveler, who may also find social excitement 
when he will. 

English people consider the Isle of Wight a 
place to be done in pedestrian week ends, and 
the whole place seems to be arranged so as to 
be attractive to that class of travelers. 

The interior hills and valleys offer quite ag- 
gressive pedestrian difficulties, and its downs 
and chines, each have their particular delights. 


192 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


There are bridle paths, sometimes hidden be- 
tween high banks and arched with foliage over- 
head, now nsed by pedestrians, whose history 
is lost; so old that they are worn down into the 
earth and in wet weather are mere water 
courses. 

Peaceful and fair as it appears, the Isle has 
borne the brunt of many a war, situated as it 
is between England and the continent. It 
bristles with forts, signal towers and headland 
lights. 

Its greatest length is about twenty-three 
miles, ‘‘just a nice afternoon’s walk” as the sis- 
ter remarked before they came away. The car- 
riage and coach roads follow the least interest- 
ing scenery. 

Many acres of mud flats have been reclaimed 
from the sea on the east side. On the west coast 
near the “Needles,” a succession of small men- 
acing rocks that rear their heads up at intervals 
in a line straight out from the shore, — the sea 
threatens to invade the cliffs and inundate the 
whole interior of the island. 

Ventnor is a watering place on the extreme 
southeast end, and Wroxall is two miles further 
inland, with the bare poll of St. Boniface’s 
Down between them, which Down is a favorite 
jaunt for those who do not mind climbing. 

When the train stopped at Ventnor, Anne 
had only time to notice the storehouses built into 
the cliffs, the fronts level with the steep sides, 
and looking as though the cliffs had tumbled 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


193 


around them. In a few moments they were in 
Wroxall, a lovely little village consisting main- 
ly of one street that bent here and there with 
its hard road and no side path, and most of the 
houses on one side right upon the street but a 
few steps up, thus giving the artistic dwellers a 
new start on artistic effect. On the other side 
the houses were more pretentious and closed in 
with their gardens by high stone walls covered 
with ivy and one could glimpse arbors with vines 
that in fall, no doubt, paid the gardener for his 
trouble. 

An imposing carriage was waiting for them 
with an equally imposing footman, who, not be- 
ing posted upon the facts of the case, took them 
in by one glance, labeled them plebian, and not 
belonging to the high world which he served. 
Anne^s suitcase was flung under the driver ^s 
seat and, standing impassive, he waited with 
fitting patience for his load to enter and occupy 
if it had to be. ^ 

His elegant attire made an impression upon 
Anne which he was quick to notice, and his im- 
portant air inclined her, not being used to 
footmen, to look upon him as a rather superior 
being, but her companion with flashing eyes at 
the slights he had offered them said, “Lady 
Blanche, they have sent two servants to wait 
upon you.’’ 

The elegant hat came off with a sweep and 
was not replaced until he took his place with the 
coachman on the front, looking with a new curi- 


194 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


osity at Anne and putting away as many points 
as possible to retail in the servants ^ dining room. 

*^Now dear, I hope that you will stand for 
me a little if he finds fault with your looks as 
he will be sure to do, you may depend upon it ; 
I am sure I did the best I could. 

Anne laughed, but gave no promise; yet the 
woman felt that she would not forget her re- 
quest. 

It was a charming brick gabled house at which 
they alighted, with a straw thatch a foot thick. 

Not a large house, nor elegant but cosy and 
home-like with the upper windows opening out, 
and the fine leaved Kenilworth ivy covering it 
with graceful trailing vines. A deep moat, at 
least it had the appearance of a moat, ran along 
the inside of the hedge, crossed by a pretty 
rustic bridge; it might have been a one-time 
creek but now there was no water in it. The 
gardens were very spacious, with walks between 
tall hedges and everywhere flowering trees and 
waving banks of ferns. The heavy thatch was 
kept from blowing off and from ravages of birds 
by a wire net covering it entirely, caught down 
at intervals by rows of little staples. 

The woman gave a card to the servant and 
they were left standing in the hall to her dis- 
gust. The servants did not seem to be posted 
on the incident of Anne’s arrival and the sig- 
nificance of it. 

A well dressed but rather sour faced woman 
came out and she seemed to know, for after 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


195 


formal greeting said Mr. Ashley was at home 
but that they were to be conducted to their rooms 
to refresh themselves, and after luncheon he 
would see them. 

‘‘This is the room my young lady is to have; 
but you will stay tonight and occupy the settle 
which will be made comfortable. She might be 
lonely alone and her governess will be here to- 
morrow and will have the little room next this 
as long as the master stays here.’^ While she 
was talking she was sliding not altogether ap- 
proving glances up and down and over Anne 
who stood like a small sphinx, not making any 
effort to prepare herself for refreshment. 

The woman understood that this was the 
housekeeper. 

“Would the young lady like me to help her?” 
she asked. 

‘ ‘ Oh no, thank you, ’ ^ she replied unconscious- 
ly moving toward the person who had abducted 
her but who now appeared in the light of a last 
plank, to lose which meant desolation. So far 
she had seen no face here that she would trust 
and it was heart-breaking to be left with all of 
them, even for a few days. 

The little she had heard of the Hon. Mr. Ash- 
ley did not reassure her and she would need 
all her prudence, all her self-possession, all her 
bravery to stand this last new phase of her life. 

After the housekeeper left them together the 
woman said to Anne, whose eyes had begun to 
brim over as soon as the door closed, putting her 


196 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


arm about the troubled little girl. 

‘'Now dearie, I wasn’t going to stay; not 
longer than it would take to see my employer, 
but on your account and because you will be 
feeling strange and lonely, I will remain as long 
as they ask me to. Be careful not to say any- 
thing that would hurt me, wont you, dear? It 
is a hard business I am in but I have learned 
a good bit even from such a little lass as your- 
self. I cannot forget how good you were to me 
when I was so ill on board the ship. So now, 
while we have a chance, if there is anything you 
can think of that I could do for you you may tell 
me after I have seen Mr. Ashley. I will be re- 
leased then, and I am beginning to think there 
may be a mistake, but it would not do at all to 
have that come from me.’’ 

This time Anne promised without hesitation. 
It came to her mind about the gentleman who 
lived there, the friend of the surveyor, and also 
the last letter she had not been able to post. It 
would seem very strange to use this woman who 
had given her so much trouble, as a means of 
communication with home. 

After the noon meal, which was served to 
them in their room they were summoned to the 
library. 

The last thing that passed between them was, 

‘‘Now, don’t forget dear, it would be terrible 
for me to lose my hard earned pay.” 

“I won’t forget,” said Anne. 

It sometimes happens that the mental charac- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


197 


teristics and disposition of a master or mistress 
are reflected npon all the members of the house- 
hold, and so it seemed here. He might have 
been dyspeptic, or nervous or gouty or rheuma- 
tic. His face had no soft line and there was a 
wrinkle between the eyes, that were sharp and 
looked out from under bushy black brows. Had 
his face been bearded it might have been pleas- 
anter. 

Here was another whose glance roved disap- 
provingly over Anne as she slowly advanced into 
the room, yet firmly too. 

‘‘Well, grand-daughter,’^ he said after his 
scrutiny was completed, it is a long time since 
we met; you were a mite of a baby then,” and 
he held out his hand. 

Anne ignored the hand, and stood trembling 
a little at some distance. 

“Pardon me, sir, I never saw you before, I 
think, for this is the first time I was ever in 
England.” 

“Tut, tut, that is all nonsense; they told you 
that. I cannot see why you should turn against 
me in favor of those poor devils who could do 
nothing for you.” 

“They did much for me, sir, and made me 
happy.” 

“Now why,” turning to the woman with con- 
siderable displeasure, he had not asked her to 
sit down, “did you not fit her out in decent gar- 
ments as I ordered.” 

Anne did not give her a chance to commit her- 
self. 


198 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


^ ‘ I would not take any of the clothes ; she took 
me to a fine store but I want nothing from you 
because you are no relation to me, ’ ’ said Anne. 

She had grown very white but was making 
a brave effort as the woman could see. 

‘^We won’t talk any more about that non- 
sense,” he said after noting the white cheeks 
and mistakenly looking for surrender, a little 
surprised now and not near so disapproving. 

The woman could not leave all the burden on 
such young shoulders so she said, 

‘‘Indeed I did my best, but she has a will of 
her own and a way about her ; I could do' nothing 
with her. I am sure she would not have come 
at all if it had not been made up among them- 
selves that she should go quietly, if she were 
taken away.” 

“They think they will profit some way. Did 
you have such advice from those people!” he 
asked. 

Anne was very angry now but she answered, 

“Yes, they knew it would happen sometime, 
you were so determined, and we all trusted to 
your being just,” then as she saw him smile 
scornfully, she added “or to the law being just, 
after they heard my story.” 

“You could not tell me anything that I do not 
already know. Those people have had you for 
more than three years, and they will have to 
work sharp if they get you again. I only had 
one son, and you are the daughter of that son, 
and it would be absurd to imagine that I would 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


199 


give you up after I had gotten you at such pains. 
Why, do you know,’’ he said changing his tone, 
‘ ‘ I have a pony for you, and a phaeton and you 
will have rich clothes and he called the Lady 
Blanche. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But my name is not Blanche, it is Anne and 
always has been.” 

‘ ‘ Do not contradict me any more, it is not be- 
coming in a little girl; I am not used to it. You 
will soon learn to like your surroundings and 
your old grandfather who intends to do a lot 
for you. Tomorrow a governess will come and 
she will teach you the things you need to know 
as my granddaughter and heiress to enough gold 
double eagles as you would say in America, to 
pile up to your waist and hide your very dusty 
shoes,” and here the look of displeasure re- 
turned. 

Anne wanted to hide her misery in the bosom 
of her companion but did not want to direct sus- 
picion toward her in any way ; afraid to betray 
her for she had received nothing as yet, she 
kept by herself as she flashed out in her anger 
at his impudence, ‘^You are a bad, wicked old 
man, and I will only study how to get away from 
here and never how to be your heiress. I hate 
your gold. My dear aunt Elizabeth has ponies 
and a carriage and I had everything I wanted 
and I loved them all. You must take me where 
I can tell my story ; to some officer, I want some 
one to hear it who has some power in those 
things,” she was a picture in her childish anger 


m AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 

righteous as it was ; eyes flashing, cheeks flushed 
but standing erect and with dignity before that 
mistaken if not hard man. 

He watched her in a surprise that had some 
amusement in it and when she had finished he 
turned to the desk near, took up a check, wrote 
something on it tore up another paper and 
handed it to the woman. 

have added a little extra to the check. I 
suppose you earned it,’’ he said dryly. 

She smiled but made no answer. 

‘‘You are to stay here if you please until the 
governess comes. Now take her and you will 
find plenty of clothes in the wardrobe that will 
fit her. We will return to the draper what is 
not suitable. She is larger than I expected.” 

“I will say to you what I told her that I will 
wear no clothes but these until I return to my 
people.” 

He pretended to ignore her entirely, but rose 
and held the door open for her to pass out as 
though she had been a duchess. 

The woman looked down the hall before clos- 
ing the door of their room and when they were 
safely inside, she said, 

“Now dear, you will have to be careful even 
of what you say to me. I will do what I can 
but must not seem to be helping you, which 
would spoil it all. Even the walls may have 
ears. Now, is there anything I can do to help 
you while I am here or when I leave?” 

Anne took the packet containing the letter 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


201 


from around lier neck, to tke surprise of the 
woman, tore out the stitches and said handing 
it to her, “If you would post this letter it would 
be a great favor, and there is something else,’’ 
and she told her about the gentleman living 
near there who was to interest himself in her 
case. She took the packet again, took a slip 
of paper from it and let her copy the barrister’s 
address. The woman reading it remarked, “He 
is well known and powerful at court.” 

Then Anne filled in the blank spaces that she 
had forgotten about when she handed the let- 
ter to the woman, and she put it in a safe place. 

Anne was left to take dinner alone with the 
old gentleman, he in dinner costume, she com- 
ing down in her old dress carefully brushed, 
and the “dusty shoes” now brushed up also, 
but none of the fine clothes. Her innate dignity 
not helping her case at all. 

He made no comment as she came in, but 
scowled a little as, ignoring the butler, who 
stood ready to help her to her seat, she stood 
and said her usual grace before sitting down, 
rather surprised when the chair came forward 
to receive her, not having noticed that the butler 
was behind her. 

Having performed the same office for his 
master the butler started to serve him first. 

“Serve Lady Blanche first, Hobbs.” 

The butler lifted his eyes to the door as 
though expecting to see Lady Blanche approach ; 
seeing no one but his master and this shabby 


20 ^ 


AN UNWILUNG TRAVELER 


but uppisb little girl, was at a loss. He had not 
heard the news. 

Serve Lady Blanche,^’ this time indicating 
Anne with a slight gesture and enjoying the 
butler’s embrassment. Anne did not raise her 
eyes. She was disappointed at not being al- 
lowed to take her dinner with her companion, 
the only person she knew in the house, and was 
without appetite, feeling helpless and lost. 

“Did you have a pleasant voyage, Blanche T’ 
he asked. 

She had her eyes upon her food and did not 
indicate in any way that she had heard him. 

“Did you have a pleasant voyage I” he asked 
again, leaving otf the obnoxious name. 

“Yes sir, very, though the woman you sent 
to steal me away was ill the whole way.” 

She looked directly in his eyes as she said 
this. 

He winced a little before that pair of inno- 
cent, offended child’s eyes. 

“And what became of you all that time?” 

“Oh, many people who knew my situation 
were kind to me and always after I had waited 
on her I had a good time on deck.” 

He looked sharply at her. 

“Did you tell every one that you were being 
taken away? that was unwise; you might have 
been molested by any unscrupulous person who 
cared to interfere.” 

“They were not unscruples persons and they 
did not think I was unwise,” she had a faint 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 203 


idea what ^‘unscrupulous meant/’ “I made 
friends who are ready to help me when I need 
it.” 

“They cannot do anything; I could stop them 
right in the beginning.” 

“You don’t know; I know that you are not 
my grandfather, and I do not see why you want 
to keep me,” and Anne’s tears were very near 
the surface again. 

“Why can you not be contented here where 
you can have everything that money can buy, 
and social prestige too, but I suppose you do 
not know what that means. ’ ’ 

It really looked as though Anne did not care, 
either. 

“Because the* things that money cannot buy 
are the things that I want, and dear aunt Eliza- 
beth, and uncle Matthew and the children,” she 
answered tears now plashing into her plate. “I 
could not care for you, not if I stayed here a 
thousand years,” and really Anne was looking 
forward to a long life, but she was beyond cal- 
culating. 

“Well if one thing will not do another may 
be tried. How would you like to be packed off 
to Paris to school, and stay there until you are 
a young lady, never coming home and never 
having any holidays?” 

Anne sat back in her chair and looked at him 
with fear in her eyes. For the first time she 
realized that she was in some one’s power. If 
he shut her up in some place, her people would 
never be able to find her. 


204 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


‘‘I think I do not care to eat any more,’’ she 
said and without waiting to be excused pushed 
her chair back and walked rapidly out of the 
room, afraid the outbreak would come before 
she could close the door behind her. Not for 
the world would she give way before him. 

The companion had not yet returned from 
her more pleasant meal, and Anne threw her- 
self on the floor because the bed was so high 
that she could not climb into it, and gave her- 
self up to unrestrained weeping. 

The discovery that this wicked man, as she 
thought him, was not even going to give her a 
chance to prove her indentity was too much for 
this brave little heart ; and so, the woman found 
her. 

“Now dear child, this will never do at all; 
we must be brave and patient if we are to ac- 
complish anything. ’ ’ 

“But he means to keep me and will not let 
me tell my story to anyone ; he is a wicked old 
man.” 

“Now dearie, we are going to put away all 
that, for we must keep cool and wary if we 
are to catch him napping as we hope to do. I 
can not go to see the person you told me about 
for he lives near here and I am doubtless 
watched, but I will telephone to him as soon 
as I reach Ventnor when I leave here tomorrow; 
so be patient, sweetheart, for one more day, and 
be sure I feel for you. The housekeeper had 
seen the real Lady Blanche and she did not think 


AN UNWIIwUNG TRAVELER 


205 


you at all resembled her ; she said her eyes were 
gray and her hair a kind of characterless brown ; 
your eyes are Irish blue and your hair is very 
dark. So let us get all the comfort out of life 
that we can and not let any one spoil it for us. 
It can not be helped just yet.” 

It was funny that the old lady coming back 
to England to have once more ‘‘some comfuts” 
popped into her mind and almost made her smile, 
at any rate it helped her to get off the floor and 
she wiped her eyes and straightened her clothes 
and hair and sat down in the high, straight back 
chair. 

The woman was not obnoxious to her now; 
on the contrary she rapidly began to be hand- 
some again, and with a perverse inclination to 
borrow trouble where there was already such 
an abundance, Anne began to wonder what she 
should do without her, when she left. When 
Anne told her with great effort about the threat 
to send her to Paris to school with all the awful 
attending circumstances, the woman saw that 
this was a serious aspect of her case, but she 
showed no si^ of disturbance to those sharp 
eyes. But without delay they put their wits 
to work on plans that were intended to circum- 
vent such a desperate course, should she not 
be rescued by her friends before it happened. 

“Did you notice this room, dear? isn’t that 
a queer bed ? it is surely three or four feet from 
the floor. There must be steps somewhere to 
climb into it with.’^ 


206 


AN UNWIL.UNG TRAVEI.ER 


They found them under the bed hidden by the 
white dimity valance. The four stalwart posts 
of oak supported another valance of white dim- 
ity and curtains that came to the floor. Anne 
who had something now to take up her mind, 
said she should have to say some extra prayers 
so that she might not fall out and break her 
bones. 

There were landscapes painted on the panels 
of the doors which seemed to her very pretty, 
though the other did not seem to think so much 
about them. 

There was a most dainty little table with a 
swinging mirror and a curve cut out of the front, 
where in the past perhaps many a grand lady 
had made her careful toilet sitting very close to 
the glass to put on her powder and patches, and 
beautifying herself in other ways. The woman 
who had seen many famous pictures of such 
women of bygone days described some of them 
to Anne to keep her mind occupied. 

Very soon the young lady sat down to the 
table and though she had never seen such a 
performance or anything like it, she went 
through all the motions of making a grande 
toilette with such grace and ease and naivete 
that the woman thought for a moment what a 
pity it was that Anne was not the real heiress 
instead of the little scoifer she was, who could 
have had the place anyway. 

After that day Anne had all her meals served 
in her room by the sour-faced housekeeper who 


AN UNWII.I.ING TRAVELER 


207 


was perfectly neutral as to feeling or sympathy. 
She informed Anne that she was to have a drive 
every day with William the coachman and the 
governess and a walk around the yard with her 
companion until the governess came who would 
then be her sole companion. 

Neither by word or look was any comment 
made by either of them upon this cruel edict, 
while the housekeeper was present. When she 
left, it was discussed in whispers. 

‘‘The cruel man!’^ exclaimed the woman “He 
has started to break your spirit, you poor lamb. 
Now promise me that you will not give way; 
that you will keep up for a couple of weeks. ’ ’ 

Anne could not think of anyone who would 
be more affected than herself, but she gave her 
word to try. 

She spent rather a restless night but felt a 
little calmer the next morning and asked her 
friend to get her some books from somewhere, 
or sewing or something; and to please get 
her some small stationery like that she had 
before, and this multitude of requests was at- 
tended to speedily by the woman who knew her 
time in which to serve her little charge was 
growing very short. She went direct to the old 
man himself for the books, and without exact 
words gave him to understand that he was too 
severe with this child. She had no surety that 
he did not consider it an impertinence, but she 
found the books laid out, quite a pile of them, 
the next time she went to the library; books to 
the taste of an apt child like Anne. 


208 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVE1.ER 


He never came near her, for which she was 
thankful, yet lived in dread. 

The governess, a middle-aged woman match- 
ing all the others in that grim house, came that 
evening before dinner, and a few moments later, 
not waiting for dinner, Anne^s much regretted 
companion left for Ventnor, carrying a load of 
Anne’s tears upon her sleeve. 

Arriving at Ventnor she went immediately to 
a telephone and called up the barrister at 
Wroxall who was to help Anne. She had planned 
thus to call him at dinner time when he would 
be sure to be at home. To expedite matters she 
introduced herself as the woman who had es- 
corted the little girl to England on the steamer 
‘ ^ Empress of Ireland, a matter of which he had 
been informed by Mr. Anderson. 

At these seemingly conflicting statements he 
was wary as becomes a great lawyer. 

“Do I understand you to say that you were 
the person who escorted the little girl! Am I 
also to understand that you abducted her!” 

“I did; there is no time to mince matters now, 
but, understand that I was only the agent of 
an agency. She was taken on what was sup- 
posed to be proof of her identity as grand- 
daughter to my employer; I now believe it to 
be a mistake though I have no data; nothing 
but the sincere statements of the little girl her- 
self. In helping her by giving you this informa- 
tion, I am running the risk of dimissal from the 
force of which I form a part, and of persecu- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


209 


tion from the interested party. Please remem- 
jjer that and keep me out of it. Try to get an 
interview with her as soon as possible. He is 
trying almost solitary confinement to break her 
spirit. 

^‘You say that you changed your opinion of 
the case since coming to England, — may I ask 
the main cause T’ 

‘‘The housekeeper there had said that she had 
seen the real granddaughter when she was very 
small^ and that there were radical differences 
especially in eyes and hair.’^ 

^‘Will you tell me where I might be able to 
find you if you were needed 

‘‘If you will promise me not to bring me into 
it; it would injure me irreparably; I know noth- 
ing, I only suspect. I never questioned the child 
much because I did not want to be in possession 
of facts that would help neither of us.’’ 

“I will say that I realize your position, yet 
you know that this is an offence against the 
liberty of an individual, and in case of neces- 
sity we would be obliged to call upon you. I 
am glad to be able to say that I believe such a 
necessity does not exist. I have not been idle 
since receiving Mr. Anderson’s letters, and you 
have given me the last link, I believe. Eemem- 
ber, if I should inadvertantly injure you, I have 
the power to place you perhaps in a better posi- 
tion.” 

After such a generous offer of amend, she 
had no hesitation about giving her London ad- 


210 


AN UNWII.UNG TRAVELER 


dress, and with a light heart took the train for 
London greatly relieved in mind as to Anne’s 
prospects. 


Chaptek XVIII. 


At first Anne liad a rebellious idea of refus- 
ing to study and be put to tasks; then like a 
sensible little girl she considered aunt Eliza- 
beth's wise counsel, and went to work with some 
zeal and determination to make the most of the 
opportunities to which she felt that she had a 
right under the circumstances. The governess 
found her thorough in the work she had been 
over and mapped out a course that included 
French, German, history and deportment, and 
Anne thought her captivity might be tolerable 
for two weeks. Then she had to practice every 
day on the grand piano in the drawing room 
without tutor, but with the governess, who was 
not musical, sitting sewing or writing, so that 
there was no chance for Anne to do exploring, 
an attraction not to be resisted where possible. 

She did not dislike her governess, she was 
like a very dry gingersnap, if one liked ginger- 
snaps, and Anne got on very well with her as 
she was naturally obedient. 

Their first drive was to Ventnor, and it took 
quite a while to see all the attractions of that 
popular seaside place, clinging to the steep sides 
of St. Boniface’s Down, so steep that no inter- 
secting streets are possible in most places and 
the ascent from one street to another is accom- 
plished by long, tedious climbs up lights of stone 


212 


AN UNWIIvUNG traveller 


steps between the grounds of residences. There 
is really only one street that is important which 
goes under different names as it winds back and 
forth in great loops to the highest portions of 
the village. 

They drove to the beautiful small park over- 
hanging the high cliff that dropped sheer down 
to the channel beach; alighted and sat on a 
bench on the very edge of the cliff, at the head 
of the long flights of steps up which many per- 
spiring people climbed in their efforts to “do’’ 
the place. 

The channel was foggy, only part of the pier 
being visible. They could hear the dull roar of 
the breaking waves two hundred feet below. 
Some spring flowers were out and the birds were 
happy and free and the little girl tried to be 
also. The air was soft and warm and rather 
enervating. 

Anne had to give in to a certain extent about 
clothes, and a few inexpensive blouses were 
added, to her wardrobe, the expense to go on 
her bill as she gave everyone to understand, 
and she valiantly resisted all efforts to make 
them expensive. Her wool skirt and “dusty 
shoes” she would not change, she said they 
were not shabby, and they were not, only cheap. 
The governess spent all the resources of her 
powerful will in the argument, then wisely, con- 
sidering the position Anne took, let the matter 
rest to await further developments. 

Every day the drive extended to a different 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


213 


locality. Godshill, two miles away, the dearest 
little village of vine covered cottages all of dif- 
ferent build, seeming to express the desire on 
the part of the inhabitants not to repeat each 
other ’s ideas in building. Everything nestled in 
ivy and it was all as neat as patient and intelli- 
gent labor could make it. The ancient church, 
perched up on a rock about sixty feet above the 
village approached by a rough flight of stairs 
of hewn stone laid in the side of the hill in very 
erratic lines, was surrounded by an ancient look- 
ing churchyard, but the dates on the blackened 
tombstones were not a hundred years back. It 
had, in the olden days, been a branch of the 
Benedictine foundation nearby, but now for cen- 
turies had been the spoliated relic of the times 
when power and religion met, with justice locked 
away somewhere. 

This part of the spoils of that Henry whom it 
seems scarcely necessary to mention, was given 
to the Worsleys ; not famous for any other great 
deeds, but whose tombs take up a very large 
part of the small interior. There was a repre- 
sentation of the Saviour extended upon the 
branches of a real tree, in the form of a cross, 
with fruit upon it, a very ancient idea of the 
Cruciflxion, and bearing out the statement of 
the vicar that that part of the edifice was a 
thousand years old. Efforts had been made evi- 
dently, long ago, to obliterate this representa- 
tion; now every effort is made to preserve 
every detail but sad to say, not with devotional 


214 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


ideas. It was now in charge of a vicar of the 
church of England, who was on very good terms 
with the exiled Benedictine monks of Solesmes, 
France, who by another of numerous examples 
of the irony of fate, were now occupying, — rent- 
ing, — the ancient foundation of which the order 
had been despoiled so many centuries before. 

Every day on their way out of Wroxall they 
passed a handsome place shut in by light grey 
stone walls, the approach covered by glass from 
gate to house and, trained carefully under the 
glass, a grape vine that must have been choice. 
Everything about this place was light and pleas- 
ant, and had an air of well-being and ease, and 
Anne learned to look for a fine, middle-aged 
gentleman who was nearly always in front or 
on the porch, or nipping at the grape vines ; he 
always touched his hat with great respect. 

On the fourth morning he was standing near 
the road when they passed and said pleasantly, 
to Anne, “Is this the long lost Lady Blanche?^’ 

Anne had quite recovered her healthy spirits 
and she answered with a little laugh, that came 
of itself, “No, sir, I am just Anne.” 

“Oh, pardon me,” he said with a smile at 
her naivete and a keen glance that took in every- 
thing; he handed her a primrose that still had 
the dew on it, with a courtly bow, and they 
drove on. 

“Isn’t the little lydy myking a mistyke by 
not tyking things as they come?” the coachman 
ventured to say. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


215 


‘‘Attend to your horses, William, and do not 
be airing your fine Cockney accent before my 
young lady,’’ said the governess. 

‘‘^in’ your pardon, Hi didn’t ’ave the honor 
of being born within sound of Bow Bells, HI’m 
w’at you would call -Coster. You would be 
Hirish Hi believe?” 

The governess ignored the question and did 
not condescend to show umbrage at the imperti- 
nence. There were no severe lines of distinction 
drawn in that grim household, as she was to 
discover if she remained. Every effort to sep- 
arate herself from the other members, consist- 
ing mainly of servants, would be met by a scorn 
that would never grow less by want of exercise. 

“That is the Honorable Mr. Atkinson, bar- 
rister, a gryte man,” said William, not to be 
shut off, and remembering that the gentleman 
had not introduced himself. 

The drives almost constituted the daily life 
of Anne. A large touring car stood at the door 
the next morning, and she saw that hampers 
were being placed in it and that the footman 
was to go with them. They rolled away in de- 
lightful ease over meadow roads and across the 
spurs of Downs. 

“We are going to visit the former home of 
Lord Tennyson at Freshwater, today, which is 
about thirty miles by the way we are taking. 
We have also brought a substantial lunch. You 
know about Tennyson the great poet? 

Anne had heard the name but being only a 


216 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


little girl had not taken much interest in the 
knowledge; she was not much interested in 
poetry any way, her principal knowledge con- 
sisting of verses learned as tasks in school, and 
not for especially good behavior, so it might be 
supposed that she did not remember it with 
pleasure, and she was frank in the avowal of 
ignorance. 

Part of the drive was taken up in telling about 
the very famous poet laureate of England ; other 
time was given to simple phrases in French 
and German. 

William did his part by pointing out and ex- 
plaining different scenes through which they 
passed, a duty for which he was well qualified, 
as he knew every foot of the little Isle. Even 
the governess listened respectfully. 

At Freshwater they spent an hour visiting 
the famous dairy, founded by Lord Tennyson, 
which had a reputation for its products; and 
the house and grounds were interesting for their 
associations. Black Chine, a big split in the 
bare cliff, not so far away, faced the ocean when 
it finished its descent of the cliff. This bald 
forbidding mass of rock hundreds of feet high 
is not like any other place in the Isle. The cliff 
is several hundred feet high and solid rock, the 
Chine or split, evidently made by a convulsion 
of nature, is deep and reaches far into the cliff. 

There were falls eighty feet high in the black 
depths ; there were steps for explorers and 
places to rest at intervals. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


217 


There had been a week of these drives, time- 
killers as William called them, in the motor, 
which was brought from town, for the long dis- 
tances; William said that it was not stationed 
at the Isle, bnt was nearly always in town for 
the nse of his master when there. 

The Honorable Mr. Ashley had decided that 
about two weeks of this pleasure jaunting would 
be sufficient for a girl of Anne’s temperament 
then she would be ready for parley. 

It is safe to say that even William would not 
have made such a blunder now. They had vis- 
ited Osborne, Carisbrooke, the chalk cliffs, Yar- 
mouth, Brading and other places which inter- 
ested Anne but did not influence her feelings 
in the least. 

As they passed the barrister’s house one day, 
Anne saw a familiar form standing in the arbor ; 
her heart gave one great bound then seemed to 
be trying to get out of her mouth. He was not 
looking her way at first, and she felt that if 
he did not soon look she would have to break 
all bounds and call to him. But he did look 
suddenly, straight at her, but, with a quick move- 
ment that was not noticed by any one else, laid 
his finger significantly on his lips, without other 
sign of recognition. 

It was the surveyor, and he had come on her 
business she knew. While it was very hard not 
to be able to greet him, she knew — this child 
was growing very wise in hard ways — that there 
was danger that the old man would whisk her 


21S 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


off to some obscure or unimaginable place, if 
he thought anyone was making ^n effort to res- 
cue her. 

William remarked, ^‘That is the syme man 
that visited Mr. Atkinson last summer. 

Since her arrival Anne had received no letter 
or communication from any source; it was to 
be feared that Mr. Ashley had completely shut 
her off from the outside world. 

A long couple of days after, she was sum- 
moned down to the library and went all in a 
flutter with a full knowledge of what it meant; 
she trusted her friends and knew they would 
move as quickly as was expedient. 

There were the barrister and the surveyor, 
and another gentleman of legal asoect was with 
the old gentleman. 

Entering, she saw no one but the kind friend 
to whom she owed so much, and with a great 
sob, that was an accumulation of repressed feel- 
ings, she flew across the room into his quickly 
outstretched arms and sobbed as though her 
heart would break, but not altogether from un- 
happiness; there was joy too in the emotion, 
joy that at last she saw some one who could 
help her. 

‘‘Now, little girl, cheer up, we have come to 
see you get fair play, and you must calm your- 
self and try to remember everything so that you 
can help too,’’ said the surveyor, wiping her 
tears on his handkerchief and gently stroking 
her hair. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


219 


^‘This gentleman insists that you are his 
granddaughter; is that trueT’ asked the bar- 
rister. 

“No, sir, it is not true; I never saw him until 
I came here,” she answered. 

‘ ‘ That might even be true and you could still 
be his grandchild,” the man of laws answered. 
“Let me have a short account of your life,” he 
continued. 

“I was born in New York City, my father 
was an English doctor who married my mother 
in America ; she was an American and was born 
in New York.” 

The old gentleman was shaking his head and 
hands and making sarcastic comments, “I told 
you so,” “they trained her well,” and other 
things to which no one paid much attention. 

“Were your father’s parents living when he 
died?” asked the barrister. 

“His father died years before he did, his 
mother died shortly after. My mother’s parents 
had been dead years before she was drowned.” 

“How did you happen to be aboard the ves- 
sel that went down?” 

“There was a little money from the settling 
up of my father’s estate in England and we 
were going to get it.” 

“Did you have any correspondence with any 
one about the inheritance? Did you know 
whether it was any considerable amount?” 

^ ‘ Mother thought it was a small amount. My 
uncle said that she did not know much about 
his family.” 


220 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


^ ^ Tell us how you and your mother were sep- 
arated the morning the ship went down/^ 

‘‘The last boat was ready to go; it was full 
hut some of the people in it called out that one 
more could be taken in. My mother kissed me 
very quickly, and handed me to a man who 
stood up in the boat, and before I knew she was 
not coming too, the boat was almost down to 
the water. She picked up a pink cloak lined 
with white fur and threw it into the boat, after 
me, it was lying on the deck when she picked 
it up. I had no wrap on and one of the ladies 
wrapped it about me. I heard some one say, 
‘That is the little Lady Blanche, and an officer 
who was with the men in the boat called me 
that, but I did not know what he meant until 
I came here. Then I remember that some one 
else said, ‘No it cannot be, she is darker,’ and 
that was all I paid attention to for when I knew 
that my dear mother was not coming with me 
I had no thought for anything else and wanted 
to throw myself into the sea to be near my 
mother.” 

“What did you do with that cloak?” 

“I do not know. I think it must have belonged 
to the Lady Blanche, whoever she was ; she was 
not in our boat.” 

“Had you seen any one that you think might 
have been the Lady Blanche aboard ship be- 
fore the accident happened?” 

“On the upper deck a little girl and her 
mother used to walk to the end of the deck and 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


221 


look down on ns making remarks about ns. Sev- 
eral times she had on that pink cloak. 

‘‘Then yon did not travel first cabin T’ the 
barrister asked in some surprise. 

“Oh no, we were not rich and mother knew 
there was not much coming to ns for my father 
never said anything about money. She hoped 
there might be enough to buy a tiny place near 
New York so she could be near my uncle. 

“Your father’s brother!” 

“No sir, my mother’s.” 

The lawyer took off his glasses and put them 
in their case with a snap. 

“Well, Mr. Ashley, I am sorry to say, for 
your own sake, that the reliable evidence is all 
on the side of the little girl, and now I am ready 
to ask you if you will give her up without legal 
proceedings being entered against you, which 
would be imperative in her case, as she pleads 
for her liberty. Of course it is not necessary 
to enter into all this with you.” 

It was a study to watch the old gentleman. 
He had put aside with a contemptuous sneer, 
without examination all the evidence that did 
not favor his claim and it is doubtful if he knew 
now what the evidence on her side was, so de- 
termined was he to believe against evidence 
that she was the Lady Blanche. He was most 
surprised at the story of the cloak and the sec- 
ond cabin voyage. 

His face as he sat there was ashy ; this meant 
that he was the last of his race, not a pleasant 


222 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


thouglit for a proud man with boundless wealth 
and only distant relatives who knew little of 
him but who would some day be rejoiced with 
his gold. 

For some time he sat thinking, his eyes on 
the polished top of the table, one trembling 
finger passing back and forth over the beading 
on its edge. 

Then with a touch of humility he turned to 
Anne who had in the end worsted him by her 
very confidence and simplicity. 

“You have no one who is especially interested 
in you, have you? I mean, your relatives of 
whom you speak are poor and have a large 
family and could not do much for you without 
depriving their own children, is it not so?’’ 

This aspect of her situation had not presented 
itself to Anne. 

“They never found me a burden, sir, and I 
have a little to pay for my education.” 

He curled his lip at the “little.” 

“Did you ever get the money you and your 
mother started out to get ? ’ ’ asked the surveyor. 
“No sir, the ship that picked us up went back to 
New York; my uncle who manages for me does 
not like English ways, he said it might be seven- 
ty-five years before I got any of it if he put in 
his claim for me, so he never bothered,” an- 
swered Anne. 

They all smiled, knowing English law ways 
so well, themselves. 

“I cannot see why you are not content to re- 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 223 


main with me. I would be good to you, and you 
could have everything that you could wish for,’’ 
the old man said with some bitterness, return- 
ing to the subject. 

Thoughts of the past two weeks ’ limited priv- 
ileges came to Anne ’s mind, but she passed them 
over and said, 

‘‘I told you why I did not want to stay with 
you.” 

‘‘She will change her mind when she grows 
older and sees what money and position can 
do,” he said. “If you ever do, let me know; I 
will give you the place of my granddaughter in 
my home.” 

It was plain that he was bitterly disappointed 
at the failure of his accurately laid and expen- 
sive plans; there had never been a doubt in 
his mind that ponies and money and all the at- 
tractive things that money can buy would con- 
quer the natural objections of any child. 

“Maybe I am wrong, but I do not think that 
she will change her mind,” said the surveyor. 

“It was the pink cloak; the officers were so 
positive, but she was coming second cabin; my 
daughter-in-law would have borrowed the money 
to come first cabin.” His evident depression af- 
fected Anne now that she was out of his power, 
so she said by way of propitiation, “I am very 
sorry, sir, that your granddaughter was lost 
instead of myself, for I would rather have gone 
to God with my dear mother, and I am sorry 
for the saucy things I said to you, but I was so 


224 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


anxious to get home that I did not think of 
any one but myself. ’ ’ 

‘‘It is the way of us all/^ he said with his 
solemn eyes fixed on her face. 

“Miss Anne, would you like to pack your 
little belongings and come with usT’ asked the 
surveyor. 

“Oh yes,’’ she said eagerly with a side look 
at the old man as though he might interpose 
some objection, but he sat impassively hardly 
noticing her now. 

The surveyor went out into the hall with her 
and they went up the staircase, she going to 
her room, and he sitting on the top step in full 
view of her door until she came out with her 
suitcase, and in street costume. 

The two barristers were talking together 
when they returned to the library; the old 
sparkle had come back to her eyes, and the old 
color to her cheeks; forgetting everything she 
went up to the old gentleman and held out her 
hand. 

“Good-bye, sir; I am very grateful for the 
good times you gave me.” 

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind kissing me 
once for the sake of the child I supposed you 
to be.” 

That did not please her a great deal but she 
gave him what might have been considered a 
dutiful salute and departed with her friends to 
the house of the barrister, and his kind lady put 
her to bed as carefully as though she had been 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


226 


an invalid, and slie bad the first untroubled 
sleep for many a day. 

Sbe sat in delighted interest tbe next morn- 
ing at breakfast while tbe surveyor told about 
tbe boy, and bow be was celebrating bis good 
fortune by bunting up all bis poor relations and 
giving them all twenty-five pounds each; for- 
tunately there were not many of them and they 
finally got bis money safely invested for him, 
and be was going to meet him somewhere in 
Worcestershire.^ 

“Why” exclaimed Anne, ^Hbat is where tbe 
law man lives who wrote to my mother about 
tbe money. ’ ’ 

‘ ^ Indeed, ’ ’ said tbe barrister, ^ ^ and what was 
bis name 1 ’ ’ 

think it was Percy Howard, I heard my 
uncle mention it tbe last time I saw him.’’ 

‘^More and more strange,’^ said tbe surveyor, 
‘^tbat is tbe name of tbe boy’s solicitor, who 
also lives in Worcestershire; and do you know 
they are looking for another heir that they are 
reasonably certain is in existence though thus 
far has eluded them. I never thought of asking 
the name ; you know it was only last week that 
I knew your name. Miss Anne. Supposing you 
should be Ut.’ ” 

Sbe was not much interested in tbe prospect, 
but they decided to bring her to tbe scene that 
enshrined her little patrimony, the barrister and 
his wife acting as escort and to take care of 
her interests. 


226 AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


Anne could not hold out against Mrs. Atkin- 
son as to raiment, the lady simply could not 
understand the child ^s point of view, and strange 
to say Anne never thought of objecting save 
a few desultory remarks that were not calcu- 
lated to cause the lady to inquire into any ob- 
jection she might make. She only stipulated 
that she should pay for it when she got her 
money. And very sweet and graceful she looked 
in her new garments when she took her seat in 
the touring car of the barrister beside his esti- 
mable lady. 

The car was stocked for a good journey. The 
surveyor would not take a place in it, but prom- 
ised to meet them at Worcester four days hence. 

It was strange that none of her steamer 
friends had asked her name, and of all the 
friends she had met on hoard the only one whose 
name she knew was the surveyor. On the long 
journey it came out gradually about the kind 
friends in London whose names she did not 
know, and her desire to see them again and tell 
them of her good fortune. That reminded the 
barrister of a certain conversation over the tel- 
ephone, so they went first to Queen’s Terrace, 
coming up to the shabby shop in almost as fine 
style as Emperor William had come across the 
way. 

Both sisters , were at home, and when the 
chauffeur had roused nearly every one on the 
block with his manipulation of the knocker, (the 
usual way of the knocker however,) one of them 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


227 


came down and Anne kept behind Mrs. Atkinson 
for awhile to have the pleasure of giving them 
a surprise. 

The sister came down and had a frightened 
look when she saw the fine people in the auto, 
Anne still keeping out of sight, and she kept 
behind until they all entered the l3ig room where 
the other sister was sewing. They were both at 
a loss until Anne came quietly forward and 
put her arms around each in turn and they 
laughed and cried together forgetting for a 
moment the fine guests standing there. When 
they learned that they were Anne ’s benefactors 
their courtesy was greater than their pleasure, 
and when Anne’s former captor found out the 
name of the gentleman standing there, though 
she had suspected it, she gave him many thank- 
ful words for his ready elf orts on Anne ’s behalf, 
not thinking of herself in those first moments. 

They stopped only a few moments, and were 
soon on their way again; not before the sisters 
had time to notice that Anne had changed her 
mind about the clothes. 

This young traveler was beginning to feel 
very well acquainted with London ; on this trip 
she saw Oxford Street, that great mart of the 
great metropolis, and Eegents Street ; Holborn, 
where they could scarcely find a place to cross ; 
Trafalgar Monument, and the bookstalls, to 
which Mr. Atkinson called her attention. Along 
the Strand almost encroaching on the street, 
these book stores form one of London’s inter- 


228 


AN UNWII.UNG traveler 


esting sights. You may see, as they did, gentle- 
men dressed for dinner, standing poring over 
one book, with several others, perhaps, under 
arm, so absorbed that it would not be at all diffi- 
cult to relieve them of everything excepting the 
book being perused. It would be impossible to 
tell the books on sale in these stores ; it would 
be much easier to tell what they had not, but it- 
must be something very unusual, indeed. 

It rained a little but they were amply pro- 
tected by the car, and everything glistened with 
its baptism of drops. The air had that quality 
that lends new zest to life and to nature. 

They took their journey very leisurely, stay- 
ing each night at some famous wayside hostelry. 
The second night they spent at Oxford, and in 
the morning walked about to see the buildings, 
ancient and modern, of the famous fount of the 
muses. It was all new to Anne, she had never 
heard of Oxford neither did she know much 
about Alfred the Great who lived way back in 
the seventh century and loved learning so much 
that he founded Oxford. 

The holly hedges were just putting out some 
new spiky leaves and the green and white kind 
was so pretty that her enthusiasm over it as 
something new and unsual made the barrister 
alight and cut her a nice branch which kept 
fresh the whole journey. The hawthorn hedges 
were budded and new gardens had long been 
showing green. 

It was not always easy to tell which was the 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


229 


back and which the front of the places in the 
small towns through which they rode, both sides 
were so surpassing neat and ornamental, with 
creeping vines and flowers, and beds of plants 
in various designs, and hedges and borders made 
of one kind of flower, and every sort of floral 
surprise. 

At Worcester, where they got out and went 
into a place to see the display of Royal Wor- 
cester ware, they came in contact with one of 
the things that takes the zest out of enjoyment 
sometimes when traveling. They had scarcely 
descended from the car when nearly a dozen 
ragged boys flocked around them pleading for 
luggage to carry; for what reason it was hard 
to determine as none was in evidence. On leav- 
ing, the barrister gave each of them a penny to 
please Anne, and the news of such princely gen- 
erosity spread with such astonishing rapidity 
that they had to mount and fly to escape the 
avalanche of poverty that came tumbling across 
the street and around corners all anxious to 
partake of such rare good fortune. They had 
time to see the recipients head directly for a 
place labeled ‘‘Bake Shop’’ which might be 
taken as evidence that they were hungry. Each 
boy having a penny meant quite a substantial 
meal for all; whereas one boy having a penny 
meant short commons, for extreme poverty is 
generous and usually divides its good fortune. 

The fine smooth roads made the ride a great 
pleasure ; no bumps or mudholes or other things 
to spoil it. 


230 


AN UNWIIvLING TRAVELER 


They drew iip before a fine place on the third 
day and waited under some chestnut trees just 
leaved out while the chauffeur pulled the bell 
that was on a post of the entrance gate. They 
could see extensive gardens dotted with stat- 
uary, with fountains playing, and marble dogs, 
and arbors everywhere. 

The portress directed them to another gate 
around the corner and said they would find the 
gate open. 

Two fine collies with aristocratic noses and 
mein came down to the open gate to meet them. 
And with consummate tact it had been planned 
that they were to rest and refresh themselves 
before being obliged to meet these strangers. 
The ladies had a maid, the gentleman a valet, 
and there was every indication that they were 
expected to partake of this hospitality for some 
time. 

It was a fine house, not old but with every ap- 
pointment revealing good taste and a refinement 
bred in the bone, seldom acquired. 

At the midday meal they met Mr. Percy How- 
ard and his estimable family. The conversation 
at table touched upon only the most pleasant 
affairs, never trenching upon business. The fam- 
ily was of that high type that is seen at its best 
in its own environment and fits in less aptly 
with the rank and file of society ; delicately hos- 
pitable, tactful to an artistic degree, and sin- 
cerely, though quietly affectionate, among them- 
selves. 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 231 


After the pleasant meal there was a confer- 
ence in the library at which Anne was the cen- 
tral figure. The barrister was in possession of 
cablegrams and information of surprising extent 
concerning herself and laid her case before the 
other with a conciseness that would not admit 
of jumble of words or of meanings. 

^‘Why was not this attended to before T’ Mr. 
Howard asked. 

‘^You know her mother was lost at sea while 
on her way to you.’’ 

^^No, I did not know it; that is a surprise to 
me.” 

‘^Her brother into whose hands the papers 
were placed had no idea that he could get it for 
her, or that it was anything worth while, so 
did not try.” 

‘‘He must be a very careless fellow; why, I 
have had this money invested since long before 
the grandmother died. She placed it in my hands 
for him or his heirs, not being in direct com- 
munication with him herself. I never knew, but 
supposed that there had been some trouble that 
had hurt his pride, and he cut himself adrift 
as so many foolish fellows do.” 

“Then there will be no trouble about getting 
it for her at once, I suppose; her uncle is her 
guardian and says to me that if it is safely in- 
vested he is willing it should remain here until 
she comes of age, but he would like her to have 
the interest to do as she pleases with, he trusts 
her to such an extent.” Mr. Percy Howard 


232 


AN UNWIIvIvING TRAVELER 


opened liis eyes wide in astonisliment. ^ ‘ He can 
scarcely be aware of the amount of her inheri- 
tance. The interest is five hundred pounds a 
year. I hold now nearly four thousand pounds 
interest accumulated since the legacy or rather 
the deposit was placed in my hands. 

It was now the barrister’s turn to be aston- 
ished. He had taken hold of this case to please 
his friend the surveyor and after seeing the 
brave little client he was interested on her own 
account, and it never entered his learned head 
that the legacy was more than a modest pit- 
tance to which he and his friend had meant to 
add enough to properly educate her, who prom- 
ised to be such a brilliant woman. 

Anne though not experienced enough to know 
what such figures meant, suddenly began to feel 
very rich and the first thought that ran through 
her mind was that she would 'have plenty to pay 
off the rasping mortgage on the beloved ranch 
in far western America, and her joy came danc- 
ing into her eyes. 

‘ ‘ He understood that it might be two hundred 
and fifty dollars or so, I believe, which did not 
seem to him worth while.’’ 

^‘He must be a careless fellow, we have found 
her out only by accident, ’ ’ said Mr. Howard who 
was methodical to the last degree. 

‘‘You see,” said Anne, finding her voice, 
“uncle thought that it would take so long to get 
it, years maybe, that there would not be any- 
thing left for me, and he was afraid it might 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


233 


eat up the little fund I have, to pay costs; he 
said such things happened sometimes.’’ 

^‘So you have another settlement.” 

Uncle pays me a hundred dollars a year from 
the little that was left after mamma died, some 
was insurance.” 

Mr. Howard looked her with great interest 
seemingly for the first time. 

‘‘Perhaps you did not know that I am your 
guardian,” he said to her. 

She blushed red from pure fright. Was he 
going to capture her and keep her ? 

“Oh sir, let me go home; I do not know you 
and I have been traveling around so much, and 
against my will, and I would rather be with 
the people I know, who love me as I love them, ’ ’ 
and all her joy was turning to tears. 

“As your guardian under English law I have 
a right to your presence whenever I deem it 
necessary, and it may happen often, you would 
not object to obeying me in matters that af- 
fected your interests, even to coming here if 
I sent for you?” 

“Couldn’t some one act for me?” she asked. 

“Your uncle who is also your guardian under 
American law would do most things but there 
might arise occasions when your presence was 
indispensable ; you could return as soon as you 
liked, you would also be welcome to stay, and 
after you know us you may not find us so bad. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, I am sure you know it is not that ; I am 
just lonesome for my people, and I thank you 


234 : 


AN UNWII.I.ING TRAVELLER 


for being so good to 

‘^Are you handling the estate for Herbert 
Walden?^’ the barrister asked. 

‘‘No, it must be in the hands of my cousin 
who has the same name and lives about twenty 
miles from here. 

On learning that he could communicate by tel- 
ephone Mr. Atkinson called up the other Percy 
Howard surmising that the surveyor might be 
awaiting him there, which was the case, a con- 
fusion of names having led to a little complica- 
tion. Arranging to meet him there in the morn- 
ing he returned to the library and now the legal 
aspect dropped away from the conference and 
they discussed things in a friendly way. 
would not be surprised if our little girl had an- 
other fortune coming to her,’’ said the barrister. 
“Indeed I” 

“You perhaps know that the Walden estate 
is looking for an heir that has been missing for 
some time and supposed to be alive; there is 
reason to believe that Anne is the heir in ques- 
tion. Walden was the step-brother of Anne’s 
father by the same mother and it is the 
mother’s money, who did not know of Anne’s 
existence when she died. Her only son by the 
second husband had two children. Anne’s father 
was the only son by the first husband. Herbert 
came of age a short while ago, his sister is 
younger.” 

“That is very interesting; I sincerely hope 
so. I knew nothing about the property save 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 235 


what was placed in my hands. ’ ^ 

^‘Then the young man who came over with 
me is my cousin,” she said opening her eyes at 
the thought. 

‘^It looks as though he were; we shall find out 
tomorrow ; for a little thing you have had a full 
share of adventures, haven T you?” 

There was a sad little cadence in her, ‘‘yes, 
sir.” 

“But it will soon be over; all the anxiety and 
excitement and you can quietly go back to school 
again and take up the life you like where you 
left off.” 

“I feel as though I could never be the same 
again,” she said. 

“Oh, my dear, that will soon wear off, noth- 
ing lasts long in this world,” said Mrs. Atkin- 
son, coming in. 

It was a joy to both, when she met her friend 
at the other Howard’s and though he was too 
shy to hold out his arms to her, he gave her a 
very enthusiastic welcome. The surveyor had 
said nothing about the special business that 
brought them over, and when they went into the 
ease it was easy to see that her claim, though 
she had not made any, was without a flaw, and 
as she was one of the heirs, that made her the 
cousin of her friend, which was a cause of re- 
joicing to them both. This fortune was even 
larger than the other and Anne began to feel 
as though some fairy princess had passed with 
an active wand. Everything seemed to come out 


236 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


in the best kind of way. Anne already bad one 
guardian, and that proved sufficient especially 
as sbe bad another in the person of her uncle 
in America, and as the surveyor was delegated 
to accompany her home, there was one more. 

Sbe could not get off quickly enough now; 
nothing in England seemed at all attractive, now 
that she had come into a fortune that would 
enable her to lift the burdens off her dear ones, 
and give them a few of the pleasures of life. 

They returned to her guardian and without 
wasting precious time she asked him, ‘‘May I 
have some of my money right away to do as I 
like withr’ 

“I would ask what direction is your ‘like^ to 

taker’ 

“I want to send my aunt Elizabeth a lot of 
money to pay off the omrtgage on the ranch, 
they worry so about it.” 

“And how much might that beT’ he asked 
smiling at her earnestness. 

“It must be as much as six bunded dollars,” 
she said blushing at her temerity; her riches 
were so new that they did not seem quite to 
belong to her yet. 

“A hundred and twenty pounds; do you want 
to make it an even two hundred!” then seeing 
her look puzzled, added, “one thousand dol- 
lars!” 

“Oh, yes, please,” with a gasp; such a lot 
of money! 

“We will motor down to Worcester in the 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


237 


morning and cable it and they will probably get 
it the next day, according to how far they live 
ont in the country.’’ 

She was so happy, that nnconscionsly she 
danced aronnd the room to work off her surplus 
feeling. It was an almost unbelievable happiness 
to do something for her people, who had been 
so unselfish with her. ‘‘I do not want you to 
think I am ungrateful, but when may I go home 
to America?” she asked after she had finished 
her figure and had time to think of other things, 
coming up shyly, to stand before her guardian. 

‘‘You are in great haste, it seems; I do not 
know that I ought to blame you, yet we would 
like to get better acquainted with you before 
you put such a vast distance between us.” 

“I thank you for all that has been done for 
me, indeed I do, but I am only a little girl and it 
has been very hard and lonesome.” 

“It is all right, I can feel for you for I can 
remember at least one occasion on which I suf- 
fered that way and it was not pleasant. We will 
get you away by day after tomorrow if you like, 
and I am going to threaten to come and see the 
ranch and those wonderful people. I have a 
right, you know, being your guardian.” 

“Oh, please come; they are not wonderful, 
they are poor, you might think, but they 
have a lot, all the same ; they give you the best 
they have and I shall do things for them when 
I get there.” and her eyes snapped in anticipa- 
tion. 


238 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


There were very different emotions on the 
return journey. Almost everyone she knew in 
England was there to wish her a good journey, 
the others were present in gifts, books, candy, 
fruit and a pile of miscellaneous good will. Her 
new relation to the boy made a great difference 
also. 

“I just knew we were some relation,’^ he said 
enthusiastically. 

There is no need to go over the incidents of 
that happy voyage to a happy home. Everything 
was but a moving panorama, not leaving lasting 
impressions, yet adding much to pleasure. 

They went directly to her uncle after landing 
in New York surprising him greatly, as he had 
not received word from any of them, and was 
not looking for a speedy settlement of her af- 
fairs,^ as was peculiar to him. He had lately 
married and was not overburdened with the 
world’s goods; he was very glad of her great 
blessings, glad that she was provided for; he 
had been planning a home for her with himself 
knowing the struggles of his sister and hus- 
band in the west. Anne had also some plans 
though she told no one, yet; but he and his wife 
did not always live in a stuffy, tiny flat in the 
heart of the maelstrom of New York. 

The two young men went on to the ranch 
with her; she had sent a message that they were 
coming, and that greeting needs no description. 
The boy too, found another home, while the sur- 
veyor, who could not be made to think that he 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


239 


had done anything out of the ordinary, was the 
lion of the household. It seemed as though there 
was nothing he did not know, and he left many 
practical ideas behind him when he left the 
ranch. 

Many changes had been made with the money 
sent by cable. The party had a radiant week 
together without stint of expense, and they were 
all inconsolable when the time came at last when 
the trek into the wilderness of Ontario could be 
postponed no longer. The young men had also 
something pleasant to anticipate in the com- 
munication that had been established between 
those two widely separated and lonely places. 

‘‘But you will come often,’’ said Anne with 
the optimism of the very young, as the two stood 
on the observation car in the few moments be- 
fore starting. Everyone echoed the wish, though 
knowing the chances were small of frequent 
visits from these busy men when so much time 
would be needed for the trip. 

They promised to write often, and she cau- 
tioned them to write the minute they got there, 
and had to wipe away many tears before the 
train trailed out of sight, and became a mere 
thread of smoke in the distance, everyone wav- 
ing handkerchief, hat, carriage robe or even the 
whip as long as anything of the train could be 
seen. 

“Such a sunshiny little thing could not help 
having good fortune wherever she went,” was 
uncle Matthew’s comment to aunt Elizabeth as 


240 


AN UNWILLING TRAVELER 


he looked on the acres that were now all their 
own, with a heart that was light for the first time 
in some years, thanks to the little person whe 
had knocked so gently at their gate. 


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